


Legacies

by kelios



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, M/M Sex, Road Trip, Wincest - Freeform, show level violence (supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24781540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios
Summary: Sam and Dean get a call from Jesse and Cesar to come visit--a working vacation, of sorts, to help them set up their wards and secure their property. The brothers, who are still in mourning after the deaths of their friend Castiel and their mother Mary, decide to take them up on their offer, but when they arrive, they find that everything is not as it seems.
Relationships: Sam/Dean, Wincest, samdean
Comments: 20
Kudos: 116





	Legacies

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This fic was written as an homage of sorts to The Berserker verse by Leonidaslion. It is in no way as good as her story, which is one of my all time favorite stories in this fandom, but it borrows many of the elements.
> 
> Link to the art by my wonderful artist TexDora:  
> https://tx-devilorangel.livejournal.com/d52.html  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24763762
> 
> Notes 2: This story is about Sam and Dean being in an established romantic and sexual relationship, and Sam and Dean have explicit sex several times throughout the course of the story. I understand that many people dislike reading about sex--please consider if this story is right for you before beginning.
> 
> Notes 3: This story absolutely would not exist without the help, support, and encouragement of firesign10, my artist TxDora, and mais_fica, all of whom offered suggestions, read throughs for plot holes, hand holding, and cheerleading. 
> 
> Truefiresign was also my beta, and any mistakes that are still left, including my deplorable lack of commas, are entirely my fault.

Sam looks at Dean soft and fond, those amazing eyes still turning Dean’s insides to mush after more than thirty years. 

“Come on,” Sam says, smiling at Dean with his heart in his eyes. “How long has it been since we went on a hunt together, just you and me?”

It hasn’t been that long. Dean knows it hasn’t. But with Sam looking at him like that Dean can’t remember the last time he took a breath, let alone the last time they went on an actual hunt. 

Still, he knows there’s something he should be remembering. “Wait...what about Jack?”

Sam laughs, easing himself back into his chair, shifting so that the muscles in his arms and thighs flex briefly and remind Dean of how long it’s been since Sam picked him up and fucked him against the wall. Dean shifts as well, trying to be subtle, but Sam notices anyway and his smile turns into a smirk. 

“He’ll be fine. I gave him Jody’s phone number, and his friend Clark is coming over to keep him company too.”

Dean caves immediately. He knows they have a responsibility to keep the world safe from Jack--and Jack safe from the world, his conscience tells him--but he’s still shouldering this one a little reluctantly. The kid had earned himself massive points by saving Sam, but if Sam thinks he can stay here by himself then Dean’s not gonna say no to a little alone time with Sam. Not after what they’ve been through in the last few weeks.

“I take it this means you’ve actually found us a hunt?” Dean says by way of giving in, and the way Sam lights up is the best damn thing in Dean’s world. “I know you, you wouldn’t have brought it up if you didn’t have something in mind.”

“Well...kind of,” Sam says, swinging his laptop around and moving his chair closer to Dean’s. “Maybe more like a road trip with a prize at the end. You remember Jesse and Cesar?” Their knees bump under the table and the hurt of losing their mom so soon after finding her again gets buried under a swell of happiness so complete and overwhelming that Dean can’t help himself. He tugs Sam’s ridiculous hair gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the side of Sam’s mouth when he turns. Sam smiles at him again, eager and almost shy, and Dean remembers that _this_ is all he’s ever wanted or needed from life. He listens with half an ear as Sam talks, caught up in the way the light glints off Sam’s hair and the warm press of Sam’s knee against his under the table. 

“...so I figure we can spend a few days helping Jesse and Cesar with the finishing touches on their wardings and take a look at the markings they found, then swing by and pick up the book I need on the way back.” 

“I’m sold,” Dean says, captivated by Sam’s enthusiasm. He remembers the easy camaraderie the two married hunters had shown, the obvious love and affection they’d had for each other--and how much he wanted to have that with Sam, not just in private but for the rest of the world to see. “When do we leave?”

Sam smiles again, and Dean wants to give him whatever it takes to keep the light in his eyes shining. “It’s about 3 now...Clark said he’ll be here around 4pm. Think you can pack that fast?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “What’s the rush?” he asks curiously, and Sam’s grin in return is pure heat. 

“Maybe I just want a little alone time with my brother,” he says, his voice dipping low, and Dean doesn’t need any more encouragement than that.

While Dean packs, Sam makes sure Jack has his cellphone, that it’s charged, and that he knows how to use it, then calls Jody again to make sure that she doesn’t mind helping out if anything comes up. Clark arrives while they’re loading up the Impala’s trunk, waving as he disappears inside the bunker. He and Jack barely look up when Sam and Dean make their goodbyes, already engrossed in whatever it is they’ve found to watch on Clark’s phone. Dean can’t help smiling at the plastic bag with the drug store logo on the side sitting on the floor between them--Dean assumes it’s full of candy, which means Clark definitely knows how to get on Jack’s good side.

“It’s nice that Jack has a friend,” Dean comments as they pull out of the garage, and Sam snorts. 

“Friend?” Sam’s tone implies that Dean is missing something rather obvious.

“Well...yeah?” Dean doesn’t get why that’s funny--it’s obvious Clark and Jack have become close in the last few weeks. 

“I don’t think they’re just ‘friends’, Dean,” Sam says drily. Dean’s head whips around against his will as he stares at Sam. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean growls, feeling suddenly, irrationally protective. “That Clark guy better not be taking advantage--”

“He seems like a good kid,” Sam says, one giant hand finding its way to Dean’s thigh and squeezing. “I think he really likes Jack. And it’s pretty obvious Jack really likes him, too.” 

Dean grumbles a bit, not entirely convinced that it’s really safe for the Anti-Christ to have a boyfriend less than a month after being born. But Sam’s hand is really big. And warm. And the closer it gets to his dick the less inclined Dean feels to worry about things he can’t really do anything about anyway. Not when he can buck his hips up against Sam’s palm and Sam’s breath is warm on the side of his neck as Sam whispers all the things he’s going to do to Dean when they stop for the night. 

By silent agreement they alternate music, grinning occasionally as they belt out the lyrics to some of Dean’s favorite classic rock anthems, Dean sometimes humming along to some of the catchier emo shit Sam likes to listen to. He’d long ago given up pretending it all sucked--it was never going to be his go-to and he was never going to stop teasing Sam about it, but he could admit some of it wasn’t half bad. Occasionally. In between they talk a little about Jack, a little about the crazy shit going on in the world, a little about what’s going on with the few other hunters they still know. Sam still talks to Max Banes, and they speculate on whether or not Jack might be able to help his sister. They don’t talk about Cass, but as the sun starts to drop, Dean hesitantly brings up Mary. 

“You know, what you said about Mary.” He doesn’t really know where he wants this to go, just knows that the heartbreak in Sam’s voice when he’d talked about her in that therapy room is still burrowing under his skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Dean, you already apologized. And so did I.” Sam shrugs, voice neutral, not looking at Dean as he picks at a hole in his jeans. 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean clears his throat. “I...uh. I know it’s not the same, but. If there’s anything you want to know. I’ll tell you. I mean, if I can.”

“Only if you want to, Dean.” Dean doesn’t have to look to know that Sam’s got that adoring, heart-melting look that he gets sometimes when Dean does something he thinks is sweet or romantic. He doesn’t have to look, but he does, just because he can and he wants to. Sam’s looking at him like he hung the moon, and Dean loves it and hates it at the same time because he’s never deserved that. Not even once in their whole lives, and especially not now, with the echoes of the things he’s said still hanging between them. 

But he does want to, even though he doesn’t. He wants to give Sam something to have faith in, something to hold onto, for the both of them. So he starts talking. 

“When I was little, I had a thing for tomato soup with rice in it…”

It’s dark by the time Dean’s voice trails to a stop, dry and a little rough. Sam had turned sideways in his seat to watch him, rapt, as Dean talked about the time he had with Mary, and about what came after. For the first time, Dean tells Sam the whole story about _that night_ , and he doesn’t miss the slow tears that drip down Sam’s face as he repeats their father’s words to him. He tells Sam about the conversations he’d had with Mary after she returned, the realization he’d had of exactly why Amara had brought _her_ back instead of their father. It feels good to get some of this stuff off his chest, but now he’s keyed up, a buzz under his skin that he doesn’t know what to do with. Anger and sorrow and hurt mixed up with relief, and Sam’s quiet gratitude and love laid down thick and heavy over all of it. When Sam suggests they find a room and grab something to eat and maybe a drink or two Dean does so gladly, suddenly anxious to get out of the car and the suffocating weight of hurts that never seem to heal. 

Sam points out a motel at the next exit--The Royal Towers--and even though they’ve only been driving a few hours at this point Dean turns off the highway, leaving Sam to grab their bags while he gets them signed in. He’s almost sorry it doesn’t live up to it’s impressive name--Sam follows him into a plain, dusty room with a single king bed that’s seen better days. Dean glances slyly over at Sam to see his brother grinning at him as they both wonder if it will still be intact come morning. 

Sam tosses their bags in the corner by the bathroom and stretches, smiling as Dean’s eyes track the flat plane of his abs appreciatively. “Dinner?” he suggests, his smile broadening a bit at Dean’s obvious disappointment. “I think there’s a place a couple miles up the road if the signs are right.”

“I could go for that,” Dean says, nodding. He steps into Sam’s space for a quick kiss, his hands sliding under Sam’s shirt for a quick taste of the warm skin he’s just been denied. “Unless…?”

“Later.” Sam’s dimples flash, forcing Dean to kiss him again in response. He draws it out a little longer this time, leaving them both breathless when they finally break apart. Sam grabs his hand and tugs him toward the door. “Come on, I’m _hungry_.”

The signs lead them to a place just like a thousand others they’ve passed through over the years--long, scarred bar along one wall, sticky with spilled alcohol and other things Dean tries not to think about. A few tables for anyone desperate enough to eat here, and a couple of pool tables in the back. They automatically case the room as they let in the night air, Dean checking for weapons and exits and Sam gauging the mood and clientele. It’s a good set-up for them, with an open floor plan, clear lines of sight, an obvious exit under a burned out sign, and what looks to be a couple of townies playing pool. Dean feels Sam relax subtly as he takes in the seemingly quiet mood, but for some reason the peaceful scene just sets Dean more on edge. He wants to move, wants to yell, maybe put his fist through a face that isn’t Sam’s, and he sighs irritably as he realizes this place isn’t likely to give him what he wants. 

Still, it’s good to be out of the car. They order a couple of beers and what passes for food here, and for a miracle Sam doesn’t complain about the plates of grease, salt and gristle the worn down waitress drops onto their table. Dean does his best not to snipe or growl, and Sam...at first Dean doesn’t get it, but after awhile he figures out that Sam is _flirting_ with him. 

It starts with Sam’s overshirt. He shrugs it off, leaving it draped over his chair as he makes his way back to the bar for a couple more beers. Dean enjoys the view--Sam’s broad shoulders and narrow waist are always a welcome sight as he walks away, and the cling of his black t-shirt across his chest and the well-defined curves of his biceps make a pretty picture as he comes back, too. Once he’s settled, he leans toward Dean, smiling coyly at his jokes, licking and sucking the salt and grease off his fingers with exaggerated precision as they eat. Dean has no idea why he’s getting such a show, but complaints are the last thing on his mind, particularly when Sam tilts his head back to finish off his second beer, baring the long line of his throat to Dean’s gaze as he swallows. Eyes sparkling, he challenges Dean to a game of pool, sauntering over to the unoccupied table, and Dean could no more refuse that offer than he could voluntarily stop breathing. 

Sam is already racking the balls by the time Dean reaches the table, stretching across the table so that his shirt rides up and his jeans--too tight, Dean’s going to have to find a way to get rid of them if he ever wants to concentrate again--pull snugly across his ass. When he’s done, he picks out a cue, long fingers running over the surface as his eyes lock onto Dean’s. Dean’s throat is suddenly dry again as Sam licks his lips, one hip cocked against the table so that Dean can see his not so little brother is enjoying this game just as much as he is. 

“You want the first shot?”

Dean doesn’t even get a chance to nod before a rough, sneering voice interrupts Dean’s fantasy of Sam bending him over the pool table. 

“You two faggots want to cut it out? Decent people are trying to enjoy themselves here.” 

Dean turns around slowly, familiar tension in his belly churning into hot, molten rage. _This_ is what he's been wanting. He waits for Sam to speak up, try to defuse the situation, but nearly swallows his tongue when instead Sam slides up behind him, a long line of heat pressed so tight against Dean’s back that Dean can feel the sharp jut of his hipbones, one hand warm and heavy against his abs. 

“Jealous?” Sam asks silkily, his breath hot against Dean's ear. “Sorry, I don't share.”

That's more than the mouthbreather in front of them can handle. With a bellow of rage he swings one clumsy fist toward them, so badly telegraphed and slow that Sam has time to whisper “Don't let him hit your face” before spinning away to face the redneck lumbering up behind them.

It's glorious. Dean doesn't know how Sam figured it out, but this is exactly what he needed, a chance to let loose some of the rage and hurt and anger he's been bottling up since their mom...disappeared. He hears a strangled scream behind him, but it's not Sam so he keeps going, ducking a swing that would have given him a black eye at least and dropping his overextended opponent with two hard hits to his kidney. He's turning to face yet another angry local when the sound of sirens wailing in the distance catches his attention.

“Sammy, 5-0,” he says just loud enough. Sam makes no response, just drops his opponent and breaks for the emergency door a few feet away. It opens stiffly, spilling them into the night, and Sam grabs him, spins him around for a quick and dirty kiss before the door closes fully. A piece of plywood gets wedged against the door to prevent pursuit, and Sam and Dean run for the Impala, making their escape just before the police arrive. 

Dean floors the Impala as soon as they hit the highway, blood racing and heart pounding. He looks over at Sam and cranks the music, the ache in his hands and his ribs nothing compared to the ferocious joy on Sam’s face. A quick glance down reveals that Sam is just as exhilarated as Dean is, and Dean reaches out, pulls him in for a quick kiss before turning his eyes back to the road. 

“Not that I’m complaining, but what the hell was that?” Dean asks, then groans when Sam’s hand slides up his thigh, heavy and warm. 

“Figured we could both stand to blow off a little steam,” Sam says, voice like smoke and velvet. “Before we _blow off a little steam._ ” He squeezes Dean’s cock through his jeans and Dean groans again, hips pushing up into that sweet pressure for a split second before he reluctantly pulls Sam’s hand away. 

“Not yet,” he says roughly. “Don’t wanna come until you’re inside me.” 

“Jesus, Dean.” Sam’s eyes are dark, his cheeks flushed. He doesn’t move far, his hand still gripping Dean’s thigh possessively. “Motel. Now.” 

“Yes, sir,” Dean says sardonically, and gets another squeeze in warning. Dean grins and speeds up just a bit in anticipation. 

The motel is just a few miles away, barely five minutes til the Impala is rumbling into the parking lot. Sam’s on him as soon as Dean kills the engine, those huge hands wrapped around his face as Sam slides into his lap and kisses him like it’s their last night on earth. Dean gives as good as he gets, hands latched onto Sam’s hips, dragging him down into sweet messy friction that’s nowhere near good enough for what he wants. Sam seems to agree, letting go of Dean to open the door and slide gracefully into the night. 

“Come on,” he says, leaning down into the car. When he straightens up his dick is practically in Dean’s face, and that’s a temptation Dean can rarely resist. Sam jerks when Dean’s hands trail up his thighs, breath coming sharp and hard, soft moan as Dean digs his hands into the meat of Sam’s ass and pulls him closer to mouth at the thick, hot line of his cock. “Dean…” The promise in his voice makes Dean’s dick jerk behind his zipper as he pulls back reluctantly, allowing Sam to drag him off the seat and pin him against the side of the car instead. He buries his face against Dean’s throat, his mouth hot and wet over Dean’s pulse. “Damn it, Dean. Do you really want me to just bend you over the hood and fuck you right here?” Sam’s voice is ragged, on edge, just the way Dean likes it, and he rolls his hips into Sam’s just to hear him groan. 

“I wouldn’t say no,” Dean breathes, and Sam huffs out a strained laugh. 

“You never do.” 

Dean’s only response is a sharp shove against Sam’s shoulder, pushing him back so that Dean can slip away. “There’s a perfectly good bed ten feet away,” he says, smirking over his shoulder. “Let’s go see if we can break it.” 

Dean wakes up before Sam the next morning, an unusual occurrence when they’re sleeping in the same bed. Sam’s on his back, one arm slung over Dean’s chest and his hair spread out across the pillow like the cover of a romance novel. Dean eases Sam’s arm away and takes a rare chance to enjoy just watching Sam sleep--the way the lines in his forehead smooth away, the slight curl of his lips as he smiles gently over whatever he’s dreaming about. The gray hairs that have started to show through at his temples--Dean never thought he’d love Sam getting older, but now he feels a sort of fierce joy whenever he sees those silver strands, pride at how far they’ve made it. 

The sheet they were sleeping under is mostly tangled around Sam’s legs, which leaves Sam’s arms and chest open for Dean’s greedy pleasure. His eyes linger on Sam’s tattoo, that familiar burst of satisfied pleasure _mineminemine_ thrumming through him with every beat of their hearts. He leans down to lick delicately over the thick black lines, convinced he can feel and taste the difference in the skin. Sam stirs, sighs, shifting under the dingy sheet and Dean can’t help but notice that he’s already half hard, despite the faint ache in Dean’s ass that testifies to just how well-satisfied they’d both been last night. A quick glance at Sam’s face shows that he’s settled back into deeper sleep, and Dean can’t resist. He moves carefully down the bed, pulling the sheet away from Sam’s lower body and kicking it onto the floor. His mouth is already watering to taste Sam, for the weight and feel of Sam on his tongue and in his mouth. Once he’s between Sam’s spread thighs Dean breathes deep, enjoying the smell of sweat and sex that still linger faintly from the night before, even after they’d cleaned up. 

Dean starts slow, teasing licks to the head of Sam’s cock, lapping up the precome that’s starting to bead at the tip. Sam moans in his sleep, hips shifting restlessly as Dean suckles at the head of his dick then begins to slowly take him deeper. He keeps his eyes on Sam’s face the whole time, taking in the way he slowly flushes, lips parted and lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Dean feels the moment Sam wakes, his gasp and the buck of his hips, driving himself deeper into Dean’s mouth and throat as Dean relaxes as much as he can and just takes him in. 

“Fuck, Dean, _fuck_ ,” Sam’s voice is still rough with sleep, one hand flailing wildly to land in Dean’s hair, clutching the short strands. Dean hums eagerly around him, throat clenching tight against his gag reflex and Sam comes with a muffled shout, spilling hot and thick into his brother’s body. Dean hollows his cheeks, pulling back just far enough that the last sticky strings land on his tongue as he sucks Sam clean of every drop. Sam shudders, fingers scrabbling at Dean’s shoulders as he drags him up to kiss the taste from his mouth. Dean crawls willingly up Sam’s body, his dick throbbing hungrily with each brush against Sam’s skin. Sam wraps one huge hand around him, gasping against his lips. “Come for me, Dean--” and that’s all it takes for Dean to spill hotly over Sam’s fist. 

“Mmmm…” Sam stretches carefully, toes curling against Dean’s feet as he settles more comfortably under Dean's weight. Dean can hear Sam's heart slowing to it's usual steady throb as they both come down from the high of being together, the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Good thing we’ve got an easy day today...I'm not sure I could move if I tried.” 

Dean yawns in response, throwing one leg over Sam's to indicate that he's perfectly willing to drowse the day away if that's what Sam wants. But it seems like the universe has other ideas. An ominous creaking groan comes from the bed frame when Dean shifts, and they both freeze. Sam's eyes are comically wide as Dean carefully rolls away from him, spreading their weight over more of the bed so that Sam can scoot toward the edge without doing any more damage. 

They don’t look at each other until they’re both kneeling on the dirty carpet on opposite sides of the sagging bed, but the moment their eyes meet neither can stop the laughter from bubbling up. 

“I assumed you were joking about breaking the bed,” Sam gasps through his giggles. 

“Don’t blame me, Sasquatch,” Dean returns with a grin of his own. He stands up and stretches, making a face at the mess of cooling, drying come on his chest and thighs. Sam laughs again. 

“Come on, princess,” he says, rolling his eyes at Dean’s disgusted face. “Let’s see if the water pressure upholds the name of this place any better than the bed did.”

The water pressure is glorious, and the hot water seemingly endless. Dean digs his hands into Sam’s hair, massaging his scalp as Sam kneels on the hard tile in front of him. He's all but purring with pleasure, arching his back and pushing his head into Dean’s hands. It's fucking _decadent_ , and Dean takes full advantage of Sam's rare willingness to let Dean unabashedly care for him.

Sam sighs contentedly. “I don't know what's gotten into you today, but I like it,” he says, smiling up at Dean as he stands. He ducks his head under the water to rinse away the creamy suds, catching Dean’s mouth for a long kiss when he's done. “And now it's my turn.”

By the time they get done in the shower it’s closer to lunchtime than breakfast. Sam had taken his time with Dean, running soapy hands over every inch of him, soft touches far closer to worship than anything Dean deserved. But he took what Sam was offering gladly, gratefully. Anything to distract from the dull ache in his heart and his mind. 

They take their time packing up, in no particular hurry to finish the last of their journey. When they stop for gas on their way back out to the highway, Sam goes in to pay and grab coffee, leaving Dean to lean against the car in the cool morning air. They’re far enough outside Tulsa to avoid most of the area’s traffic, and Dean appreciates both the quiet and the upcoming chance to let his Baby stretch her legs. He’s not really sure how he feels about this whole trip, beyond the fact that it’s making Sam happy, but he can admit to himself that he’s been an unfeeling dick the past few weeks, and he owes it to his brother to at least give this a try. 

And he trusts Sam. He does. If he’s learned anything in the last few years, it's that Sam has accepted their life and isn't going anywhere without Dean, even if Dean sometimes thinks he should. Sam’s not going to move into Jesse and Cesar’s back room and take up ranching. Dean mentally wills himself to relax, determined not to let his own issues get in their way, no matter what reservations he might have now that they’re actually on the road. He pushes off the car when he sees Sam striding back across the parking lot, admiring the long length of him when he’s not trying to camouflage his height or shorten his strides to match someone smaller than himself. Dean knows Sam does it to seem less intimidating, but there are few things he loves more than watching Sam forget to change himself for the rest of the world. 

Sam's smile as they pull onto the highway and the surprisingly decent coffee go a long way towards keeping Dean’s mood from sinking too far, at least for awhile. But it’s been a rough couple of days, one hard hit after another, and Dean can’t deny the losses have taken their toll. 

He’s lost nearly everything. His mother and the possibility of a relationship with her. An ally in Castiel--more useful at some times than others, but still a valuable asset, and something like a friend. Another ally in Crowley, a loss made more grim by the fact that Lucifer is free again. And to top it all off, Sam feels some sort of obligation to raise Lucifer’s idiot son, which is going to backfire on them and the world spectacularly any day now. Dean gave up thinking the world was fair a long damn time ago, but this...to lose everything they’d worked for, again. To start over, trying to rebuild again, after everything they've been through--it’s just cruel, too much to bear when they've already been through so much. They need a _win_ , something Dean can use to catch his balance, that will help him pull his weight. Sam’s trying to hold on for both of them, but it’s an uphill battle that Dean is terrified they’re going to lose. 

Sam notices, of course, and does his best to drag Dean out of his funk. He turns the music up and sings along, trying to entice Dean into singing with him, to return to the fun they’d had the day before. Dean can’t help playing along, pitching his voice even more off-key than usual, and the brilliance of Sam’s smile reminds Dean that his biggest win, the one that matters most, is sitting right next to him. 

Eventually the tape runs out, and they drive in silence for awhile. Sam’s still smiling softly as he stares out the window, humming under his breath as he stretches out along the seat, one hand resting against the back of Dean’s neck and the other tapping out a rhythm only he hears against his knee. Sunlight turns his hair into a shining halo, glowing beautifully against the Impala’s black leather seats, and Dean feels a sudden and fierce need to _touch_. Sam shakes himself out of his daydream, smiling at his brother as he tells Dean where to turn off the highway. Dean follows the instructions, then on impulse pulls into the gas station right off the exit. They don’t need anything, but Dean can’t wait til they arrive at their destination to feel Sam’s skin against his, and Sam doesn’t object when he’s dragged into the grimy truck stop restroom and pushed against the graffiti-covered wall with a hard kiss. 

Sam reacts instantly, eating at Dean’s mouth, faint sound of protest when he pulls back that turns into a moan when Dean drops to his knees. Sam’s already half hard, one hand digging into Dean’s hair as Dean opens his fly. Sam gasps at the first touch, biting down on his free hand as Dean licks up the slick already flowing over Sam’s shaft. Dean’s cock jerks at the sound, pressing hard against his zipper as he wraps his lips around the head of Sam’s dick and suckles, his tongue pressing firmly against the bundle of nerves under the head. Sam’s hand tightens in his hair, pulling his head back, and when Dean looks up the heat in Sam’s eyes pulls a groan from deep in his throat. He strains against Sam’s hold, licking the taste of him from his lips as his own dick throbs and pulses. 

“Get yourself out,” Sam orders, voice rough, strained. “Wanna see.” Dean fumbles hurriedly to obey, groaning faintly with relief as he pulls himself free. Sam sucks in a shaky breath and tugs Dean forward, sliding sticky hot against Dean’s cheek before Dean takes him in again, eyes slipping closed as Sam pushes into his throat with a moan. This is what Dean wants, what he _needs_ \--the desperate reverence in Sam's eyes, confirmation that everything he's ever truly wanted is right here in front of him.

Sam doesn't last long, never does when Dean really puts his mind to it. Dean ignores the tears in his eyes and the drool on his chin, just gives himself over to the taste and feel of Sam, the pleasure of making them both happy. Taking care of Sam centers him, grounds him, makes him feel more like himself, and he’s forever grateful to Sam for his indulgence and patience. 

Afterwards Sam kisses him, soft and sweet, happiness radiating from him like heat-waves off the desert highway, and Dean counts it as a win for them both.

It’s easier for Dean to get out of his head at that point. He spends the remainder of the short trip teasing Sam and remembering everything they both have to live for. Sam’s smiling every time Dean looks over at him, and he’s starting to think that a couple of weeks spent with good friends and hard work is going to be exactly what they both need. 

*************************************************************************************************************

Gravel crunches under the Impala’s tires as Dean turns down a long, winding driveway. There’s a fence--wire rather than white picket, and when they pass under the tall, ranch style gateway Sam can tell without looking that there are sigils either painted or carved on the weathered wood. The magic shivers over him, surprisingly warm and personal, and he glances over at Dean to see if he caught it too. Dean’s lips are pressed tight, and Sam winces internally at his white-knuckled grip on the Impala’s steering wheel, a pang of sympathy vibrating through him at Dean’s obvious nervousness.

They’ve never socialized much, even less after Bobby’s death a few years back, and the thought of spending a week or two with experienced hunters who don't know the truth about their relationship is both exciting and a little nerve-wracking. But Jesse and Cesar had called them a week ago and asked if they could come down and check out something they’d found--and maybe rest up a bit too. Sort of a working vacation. Jesse had mentioned picking Sam’s brain for ideas about protecting their new house, and Sam had loved the idea. Dean had come around, mostly for Sam’s sake, but it’s obvious from his expression that he’s regretting that decision just a little again. Sam knows better than to bring it up now that they’re actually _here_ , though. He settles for sliding a hand over Dean’s thigh and meeting his brother’s worried gaze with a reassuring smile when Dean glances his way. 

“Better get that out of your system now,” Dean says gruffly. “Gonna have to keep your hands to yourself for the next week.” 

Sam’s smile turns a little dirty. “We’ll work something out,” he says with certainty. His hand inches higher, dangerously close to the slight bulge pressing against Dean’s zipper as he toys with the thick inseam. “There’s no way I’m going a week without touching you.” 

Dean groans a little as Sam’s fingers ghost over the outline of his cock, and Sam grins. Dean’s hands are still tight on the wheel, but for an entirely different reason now, and Sam can tell his brother is already turning over ways they can find a little alone time over the next week. Sam’s hand is still on Dean’s thigh and they’re both still smiling when the house they’re looking for finally comes into view. 

It’s bigger than Sam expected, and older--a classic ranch style home, one story with a wrap-around porch, long and low with similarly built outbuildings just visible behind it. Jesse and Cesar have obviously been busy with repairs, and Sam has to admit it looks pretty good. He can’t see any overt symbols or sigils from the car, but he can see some good places for them, and he feels a bit more excitement over the work to come. It won’t be easy, especially when he and Dean are trying to hide in plain sight, but he’s looking forward to the challenge. He’s got his hand on the Impala’s door handle when Dean’s voice stops him. 

“This is gonna be us one day, Sam,” he says quietly. “Just you and me and a cabin in the middle of nowhere. No more monsters, no more angels or demons, no more Men of Letters and their bullshit. Just us.” The longing in Dean’s voice makes Sam’s eyes sting and blur, and he turns back to his brother. 

“Just you and me,” Sam echoes, just as quietly. It takes all his willpower not to lean over and kiss Dean, turn the sorrow in his voice into assurance, but he puts everything he’s feeling into his voice instead. “That’s all I need to be happy.” 

Dean smiles faintly at him, not the one that always makes Sam’s heart skip a beat with happiness, but enough like it to give Sam a little hope. “Enough with the chick flick moments, Sammy,” he says, as though he hadn’t started it all himself. “Let’s get this party started.”

Sam grins back, his heart suddenly lighter with the deliberate effort Dean is making toward happiness. Dean had tried to hide his despondency on the way out here, but Sam hadn't been fooled. The smile Dean just gave him though--that wasn't faked, and Sam can't hide the thrill of pleasure it brings him. À moment later the Impala’s doors creak in unison, the music of Sam’s childhood, as they both straighten and stretch with matching groans of relief. Dean opens the trunk and they each grab a bag before turning toward the dusty porch together, Dean a step ahead. Instinct, even when there’s no visible danger. 

The door opens before Dean can knock, and Cesar steps out onto the porch with a broad grin. “Dean! Sam! I thought I heard that beautiful car of yours.” He offers both of them a bone crushing handshake, then guides them into the house. 

The interior isn’t exactly what Sam was expecting. There are a few books scattered around, but closer inspection reveals them to be local history rather than occult lore. There are no weapons within easy reach, the floor has clearly been swept within the last day or two, and Sam doesn’t see a single dust bunny lurking in the corners. The furniture is rough-hewn and heavy, the frames obviously handmade and built for comfort. It looks _normal_ , and Sam can’t help a wistful smile as Cesar gives them a moment to look around, beaming with pride. 

“This is damned impressive,” Dean says sincerely. He drops his bag and leans against the back of a sturdy armchair easily big enough for Sam to lounge in comfortably, patting the wooden frame. “You and Jesse make all this yourselves?”

Cesar nods. “Jesse did the design, I did the heavy lifting,” he answers proudly. “Speaking of, Jesse’s in his studio finishing up for the day. He’ll have my head if I show you everything without him, but let me show you where your room is, at least.” He pauses, looking slightly embarrassed. “I hope you don’t mind sharing. Only two of the bedrooms are finished, the third is taking a little longer than we expected.”

Dean glances over at Sam with a tiny smirk, and Sam just smiles. “It’s no problem. Tell the truth, after so many years on the road it’s second nature.” 

Cesar shakes his head and chuckles. “I hear that,” he says, crossing the room and gesturing for them to follow. “After awhile, it’s just too quiet when you’re on your own.” 

Two doorways lead off from the living room, and Cesar leads them toward the right. “Two bedrooms and the guest bathroom this way,” Cesar says over his shoulder. “And the kitchen and master bedroom are off the other hallway. One of the bedrooms isn't quite finished, and Jesse is using it as a studio for now, so we're keeping it locked.”

Something in Cesar’s tone stirs the hair on the back of Sam's neck. A quick glance at Dean shows a slight frown, but his brother catches his unspoken question and gives a tiny shake of his head. Sam gives the door of the unfinished room a lingering look as they approach. To his surprise, it's highly decorated. A series of runes--older than any Sam has seen before, though he's sure they are Nordic--are painted around the entire frame. An ancient tree with widespread limbs and tangled roots covers the rest of the door. _Yggsidral_ , Sam's memory provides helpfully, and something stirs inside him. The stylized branches and roots twine sinuously with the runes in a mesmerizing pattern, lending them weight and power. Sam doesn’t even realize he’s stopped, one hand outstretched, until Cesar’s hand falls on his shoulder. 

“Careful now,” he says, with a cheerfulness that seems forced. “Some of the paint might still be wet.” He steers Sam politely away from the room and further down the hall, giving them a running commentary on the fun he and Jesse have had rebuilding the old ranch house. 

“This property has been in my family for nearly two hundred years,” Cesar says, opening the door to their room. "I thought the house had been torn down and the property sold years ago, but as it happens there's a provision in the deed that the property has to stay in the family as long as anyone wants it. So Jesse and I sold our place in New Mexico and settled here instead.”

The room is nice--sparsely furnished with two queen beds taking up the majority of the room, and a battered dresser in the corner. The walls are rough-grained wood, with a large picture window looking out over the mountains that loom over the house. 

“You can use the dresser if you want, and the bathroom’s through there.” Cesar nods toward a door on the far wall. “The bathroom opens into the hallway for guests, so you might want to keep the connecting door shut and locked as a precaution.”

Sam and Dean drop their bags on the bed closest to the door, and Sam crosses to the bathroom. “I’m just going to wash up,” he says quickly. “Can I meet you back out front?” 

“Of course. Take your time getting settled in.” Cesar smiles fondly. “I’ll just check on Jesse, see if he needs any help.” He closes the door behind himself, and the brothers listen as his footsteps fade away. 

The moment Dean can no longer hear Cesar’s footsteps he’s in Sam’s arms, pulling him down into a kiss. Sam relaxes against him immediately, swallowing Dean’s quiet sigh of relief. It only lasts for a moment, more for comfort than for arousal, but Dean doesn’t move away. 

“So what was going on with you back there?” he asks quietly. “You seemed kind of freaked out by that painting.” 

Sam shrugs and pulls away from Dean, wandering over to the window. “I don’t know,” he admits. “The design wasn’t really special that I could see, just a nice rendition of Yggsidral and some runes I couldn’t make out. I just wasn’t expecting to see something like that here.”

“Yggsidral…” Dean frowns in thought. “The World Tree? Seems like an odd choice for Oklahoma.”

“A little, but we don’t know where Cesar or Jesse’s families are from originally,” Sam replies absently. “It’s probably nothing. I did think that Cesar seemed a little cagey about the room, though.”

“Probably just nervous about us being here,” Dean says reassuringly. He moves to stand behind Sam at the window, slides his arms around his brother’s waist. Sam can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, relaxing. “Technically they don’t know us any better than we know them, right?” Dean hesitates, then says reluctantly, “Thank you for doing this, Sam. Setting this up, getting me out of my head for awhile. I know the past few months haven’t been easy, and...I really do want to give this a chance. Come at all of this with a clearer head.”

“I know. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Jesse and Cesar have been hunting for years, and I’m hoping they might have some insight, too.” Sam turns in the circle of Dean’s arms and kisses him again. “But before we start picking their brains, let’s go say hi to our hosts before they start wondering what we’re up to.”

The trip past the locked room is uneventful this time. Dean tries to be subtle, but it’s kind of hard to miss when he deliberately puts himself between Sam and the door as they approach, or that he keeps his hand on the small of Sam’s back as he does his best to distract Sam with idle conversation. Sam can’t bring himself to be annoyed--it’s sweet and not entirely unexpected. They find Jesse and Cesar in the kitchen area, and Jesse smiles enthusiastically when he sees them.

“Sam, Dean--it’s great to see you again!” Jesse closes the book he and Cesar had been poring over--a book that was a little closer to what Sam might have expected to see in a hunter’s home: ancient, leatherbound, and dusty. Sam and Dean settle down at the kitchen bar, knees touching out of sight as Jesse jumps up. “Can I get you something to drink? Beer, iced tea, water?”

Sam and Dean both opt for beer and Cesar watches Jesse affectionately as he rummages in the refrigerator. “All settled in?” he asks, and Sam and Dean nod. 

“The view out back is beautiful,” Sam says, taking his bottle from Jesse with a smile. “It’s been awhile since we were off the beaten path like this.”

“By choice, anyway,” Dean says wryly. “Most of the time when we’re in the middle of nowhere it’s because something’s chasing us.”

“Been there, done that!” Jesse agrees, and holds up his bottle toward Cesar for a toast. “Here’s to never running through a forest in the middle of the night again--I hope.” All four hunters tap their bottles in agreement and drink deep. “To that end, Sam, I really appreciate you coming out here to help us set up our wards and protections. I’m looking forward to working with you on it.”

Cesar shakes his head with an amused laugh. “I think that’s our cue, Dean,” he says. “You want to give me a hand with dinner? There’s no stopping him once he gets going, and we can get the grill ready to go.”

“You’re offering Dean the chance to play with fire, that’s a sure thing,” Sam teases, giving Dean a little shove. “Go on, I want to talk to Jesse about what he has in mind and what he put on the gate out front.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Dean says, grinning down at Sam. He starts to lean into Sam on instinct, and Sam sees the quick flash of panic in his eyes as he catches himself. They’ve been alone so much in the bunker it’s hard to remember to keep their barriers up in a comfortable environment like this, Sam thinks, and promises himself that he’ll try harder. He turns to Jesse. “I noticed that book you were going through has an interesting symbol on the front. Mind if I take a look?”

Dean follows Cesar outside as Sam surrenders himself to his inner geek. Dean’s never met anyone who loves research as much as Sam does, who just loves learning for the sake of learning. He can and does do his own research out of necessity, but he’s always glad to let Sam take over. He says as much to Cesar, who throws his head back and laughs. 

“Well, I can’t say either Jesse or I love it, but he definitely tolerates it better than I do.” Cesar leads Dean over to a huge grill on the corner of the patio, a true masterpiece. 

“Damn….” Dean whistles in appreciation, then stands back as Cesar opens the cooler next to the grill and pulls out an array of veggies wrapped in foil--corn, potatoes, carrots, as near as Dean can guess. “Do you even get to do anything, or does this beauty do it all for you? Also, are you feeding an army that we haven’t met yet?”

“It’s easy to work up an appetite out here,” Cesar says easily. He arranges the food on the upper rack and lowers the top while Dean grabs a couple of chairs and pulls them over. “So...I guess you figured out what it’s like to settle down with a hunter?”

Dean stiffens, his beer nearly dropping from suddenly nerveless fingers. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He doesn't intend to sound as hostile as he does, but his heart is pounding hard and fast with anger and fear. Cesar doesn’t seem to take offense, though.

“Just that you and Sam seem pretty relaxed,” he says, shrugging. “Word is you’ve taken over the old Men of Letters headquarters and settled down a little, though not without some problems as of late.” He tips his beer in Dean’s direction and they’re both quiet for a moment before Cesar sighs. “None of us are getting any younger, you know? There’s nothing wrong with pulling back a little and letting the kids pick up the slack.”

Dean eases back into his chair, mollified. “Yeah. Yeah, we’ve got a pretty good set-up now that we’ve settled a few things. Sorry I snapped, it’s just…”

Cesar nods thoughtfully. “I’ve heard the rumors. Hard not to, once we knew your names. None of my business, though. What you and Sam do--or don’t do--is your choice, and we’re not going to judge you for finding happiness either way. Live and let live as much as possible, that’s my motto.”

“‘S a good one,” Dean agrees with a private sigh of relief and a little surprise. “Wish more people thought that way.” They talk comfortably for awhile about random things--hunting, the Impala, their favorite sports. It’s nice to relax and just enjoy the cool air and the smell of cooking food, to let go of the constant roil of emotions churning inside him the last few weeks. _Sam and I ought to do this sometime,_ he thinks, and smiles to himself before getting up. “Want another beer?” he asks, tossing his own empty into the recycling bin by the door. 

“Thanks,” Cesar says. “I better get the steaks started too, they won’t take long unless you and Sam like ‘em cooked through.” 

Dean ambles toward the grill and the cooler, not paying too much attention, when a sudden movement catches his eye. Before he can pull back, a knife flashes past him as Cesar hisses, “Dean, stop!” 

Dean freezes, adrenaline flooding his system as he tries to figure out what just happened, and then Cesar is kneeling next to him, faster than Dean would have thought possible. Looking closer, Dean sees that the knife Cesar had thrown is pinning the head of a long, dusty colored snake to the concrete, the tip buried deep. It writhes senselessly, mostly dead but still dangerous as Cesar pulls the knife free with one hard pull and removes the head completely in one swift, fluid motion. 

“What the fuck,” Dean exhales shakily. “Is that a rattler?” 

Cesar nods, and when he looks up Dean swears his eyes glow. The other man looks away quickly, cleaning his knife on the broad leaf of a plant along the edge of the patio. When he stands up again his eyes look normal, and Dean chalks it up to fear and adrenaline and a bit of imagination. “It’s a big one, too. Probably wouldn’t have killed you since we keep anti-venom in the house, but you would have been in the hospital for a day or two at least.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Dean says with feeling. “How the hell did you even see that thing?” Cesar shrugs, not meeting Dean’s eyes. Dean feels something tug deep in his gut, some instinct shouting _wrongwrongwrong_ as he tries to make sense of what he’d just seen.

“Just lucky, I guess,” Cesar says evasively. “Saw it move, realized what it probably was. They like to lay on the concrete at night for warmth, so it wasn’t completely unexpected.” 

Dean holds out his hand, deciding to let the matter go for now given that Cesar had just potentially saved his life. “Thanks, man,” he says sincerely. “That would have sucked. And I definitely need that second beer now!” 

Cesar laughs, gripping Dean’s hand then pulling him into a rough hug. “Can’t have you dying the first day,” he says cheerfully. “We’ve got too many plans for you two!” 

Dean laughs too as Cesar tosses the snake’s body into the darkness. “That doesn’t sound ominous or anything…”

Cesar’s eyes gleam again in the darkness as he fishes a beer out of the cooler and hands it to Dean before opening the grill and laying the steaks across the hot rack. “What, you didn’t buy that vacation story, did you?” he jokes. “Jesse is really excited about working with Sam. And we found something else we’re hoping you two might be willing to help us with--a cave that was uncovered in a landslide. It definitely falls within our purview and it’s going to take some work to get to and evaluate.”

Dean drops back into his chair as the steaks begin to cook. “Oh? Now that sounds interesting, as long as that guy--” he waves in the direction Cesar had tossed the snake--”doesn’t have any friends in the vicinity. I’m sure Sam will be eager to take a look--what makes you think it’s in our line of work?” 

Cesar settles back into his own chair. “Well, I can give you a teaser. What do you know about berserkers?”

Dean takes his time answering, somewhat thrown by the unusual question. “Well...supposedly, they were a special type of warriors. They were crazy strong and fast, ignored any wounds they received, and kept fighting way past the point when other men would have died. The word itself is supposed to come from ‘bearsark’ or bear skin, since the men who took the name tended to wear animal skins and thought they were possessed by animal spirits. Turns out they weren’t wrong. They sometimes _were_ possessed by animal spirits, if they did the rituals right. Unfortunately the human part of the mix always succumbs to the spirit’s animalistic instincts and bloodlust in the end, with pretty horrible results. As far as anyone knows, there’s no way to separate a human soul from an animal spirit once it moves in, so we just treat a possessed human like any other monster that can’t be saved.”

“That’s basically what our research has turned up, too,” Cesar says, nodding. “But there’s some stuff in this cave...I don’t know. Makes me wonder if maybe the lore on this one isn’t a little off.”

Dean frowns at that. “I don’t know, man...there’s not a ton of info on them since they’re so rare, but everything I’ve ever seen says the animal spirits are evil. They’re like demons, but worse. We caught wind of one once, but someone else was already working the case--and it was ugly. People torn apart, raped, tortured. I don’t ever want to see something like that again.”

Dean watches Cesar with narrowed eyes, puzzled by the whole conversation. He can tell the other man wants to push his point of view, but they’re interrupted by the porch door opening. 

“Everything alright out here?” Jesse asks, coming out to lean against Cesar’s chair. “Sam and I thought we heard some commotion.”

“Just a slithery visitor,” Cesar says easily. “Gave Dean a bit of a scare but we’re alright.”

Jesse throws a quick glance in Dean’s direction, looking relieved. “Oh, yeah--gotta watch out for the creepy crawlies around here. Dinner smells good, you almost done?” A loud growl punctuates the question and they both laugh softly. 

“Just let me flip the steaks, then we’ll bring it all in.” Cesar tugs the hem of Jesse’s shirt until the younger man bends down for a quick kiss before he heads back into the house. Jesse leaves the porch door open when he goes back inside, and Dean can hear him and Sam moving around in the kitchen, talking and laughing quietly. It’s strange but good. _I could get used to this,_ he thinks, smiling to himself. Cesar gets up to tend the grill, and after a few minutes Dean wanders back inside to see what Sam’s up to. 

He’s surprised and not entirely happy to find Sam back in front of the door to Jesse’s study. Sam isn’t touching it, doesn’t seem to be lost in it the way he was before, but he’s definitely focused. Still, he looks up at Dean’s approach, smiling at him more openly when he sees that Dean is alone. Dean stops next to him and slides his arm around Sam’s waist. 

“This again?” he asks carefully. 

Sam nods. “Jesse showed me where he got the design--it’s from something called _The Tyr Bible_. It’s a book--”

“It’s a book about berserkers,” Dean says, frowning. “It also doesn’t exist. Even Bobby never saw a copy or knew anyone who had one--it’s a myth.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Sam responds eagerly, eyes lighting up at the thought of something new. “But Dean...what he’s got looks real. And if the little bit Cesar can make out is right, it may contradict a lot of what we thought we knew.”

“Which wasn’t much,” Dean interjects. “Cesar asked me what I knew about berserkers, too, and implied there might be more to the story--something about a cave they found. Did Jesse bring anything like that up to you?” He rubs the back of his neck restlessly. “I feel like there’s something we’re not getting here.”

Sam shakes his head. “Jesse did mention the cave, but I don’t know much. I don’t think it’s anything sinister though, Dean...they’re hunters, after all. They want to destroy evil just like we do, it’s in their nature.”

Dean thinks about protesting again--something just isn’t sitting right with him--but without more to go on he’s not going to burst Sam’s bubble. “Well, we’ve got time to look into it. That’s part of the reason we’re here, right? Now let’s get back to the kitchen before Jesse comes looking for us.” 

Sam’s relief when Dean gives in surprises even him. He agrees with his brother that something is going on, but instinct tells him it’s not bad or dangerous and he badly wants to trust that feeling. He’s happy to follow Dean back to the kitchen, eager not only for food but for Dean to hear what he and Jesse had been talking about. It all centers around the book and the legends, he’s sure, and he’s looking forward to Dean’s reactions and thoughts. 

It isn’t hard to get their hosts talking about their discovery. 

“We found the cave after a landslide about a week or so ago,” Cesar says after the food has been passed around. “We've got a few animals, and hikers come through now and then, so it's the sort of thing we have to get cleaned up right away. We figured it was probably just an animal den, but it turned out to be a lot more.” 

“It's incredible,” Jesse interjects. “The first thing we noticed were the paintings on the floor. There's a lot of native artwork in this area, but this was clearly something different.” He smiles at his husband, clearly proud. “Cesar recognized it right away as Nordic runes. Luckily we always have flashlights with us, so we could look around at what was clearly a burial site.”

“An old one,” Cesar agrees. “A couple hundred years at least, though I’m no expert. There were six bodies laid out in carved niches, all dressed in clothing that looked very old-fashioned, but not American old-fashioned. More like something from an old Viking movie--”

“Wait,” Dean interrupts. “Vikings? Like furs and helmets with horns on them?” 

Cesar and Jesse laugh, exchanging amused glances. “Not exactly. But tunic and legging style clothing, with embroidered or fur lined hems. Well-made armor and weapons, too, about what you’d expect to see from that part of the world.” Cesar pauses thoughtfully. “No way to tell if they were men or women without an expert, but they were pretty big skeletons so I’d say men. There were symbols and designs on the walls and floor--we scuffed over some of the ones on the floor, unfortunately, but we were a lot more careful when we realized what we were looking at. And several clay urns, also covered in symbols and signs. I can read runes, a little, and from what I could tell they were a combination of warding and protection. They invoked Tyr, that much I could tell, and what appeared to be wards against both demons and angels.” He looks serious. “Two of the urns were broken, possibly in the landslide. There was nothing inside that I could see, which rules out it being supplies of some kind I think. That worries me.”

Jesse picks up the story, his voice grim. “But there was no way to tell if the wards are there to protect them or us. We’re hoping it was all superstition, but...in our line of work that’s really not likely. We’re really glad the two of you were already planning to visit. Backup and hopefully a little information would be really nice on this one.” 

Sam nods thoughtfully, his mind racing. “What about the book?” he asks. “Where did you find it?”

“One of the skeletons was holding it,” Jesse admits. “We should have left it, but there was a chance it had information we needed. I had to take it.” 

“Sounds like an ancient cult of Tyr, maybe,” Dean says musingly. “Though how they ended up here is a mystery.”

“Well, there are some local legends about that,” Cesar says. “There’s a town called Heavener about twenty miles from here--they have a little park with rune carved stones in it. They aren’t really legible anymore, but it seems like someone from that part of the world was here a long time ago.” 

“There's more to it than that,” Jesse says with quiet intensity, and Cesar nods reluctantly. 

“One of my ancestors was Norwegian,” he says. “It was her family that originally owned this land and it came to us through her. I remember learning about our family legends and myths as a kid, but there was a fire and most of the old books and letters and journals she’d kept were destroyed. But it’s a condition of inheritance that the property can’t be sold. So it could be that this whole thing is kind of personal for me.” 

“Is that why you can read runes?” Sam asks, curious. “There’s not much call for rune lore on this side of the Atlantic.” 

“I can’t really read them,” Cesar admits. “Not anymore. We all had to learn when we were younger, but it was just a game, a secret code to taunt the other kids with. I can recognize them and make out a few words, but that’s about it.”

“You’re doing a lot better than you were last week,” Jesse says warmly. “We’ve made some progress, and we’re hoping the translation will go faster with Sam here to help.” 

“What’s the rush?” Dean asks. “The cave isn’t going anywhere, the skeletons aren't going anywhere.” He looks at Cesar with distaste, because Dean _hates_ hunting zombies. Gross, unsanitary fuckers. “Are they?”

“Not as far as we know,” Jesse says reassuringly. “But we can’t keep it a secret forever. If anyone finds out, we could have the government breathing down our necks, and who knows if that’s safe or not?” 

“That could be a problem,” Sam agrees thoughtfully. “Social historians are more likely to be open minded than Fibbies. Better not to take chances.”

“We’ll head out tomorrow morning if you're up for it,” Cesar decides. “Do either of you ride?”

“Ride? Like...horses?” Sam asks warily, just as Dean starts laughing helplessly.

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam snaps, and Jesse and Cesar grin a little.

“Oh, I’m sensing a story here,” Jesse says, leaning forward. “Come on, don’t hold out on us!”

Much to Sam’s chagrin, Dean doesn’t. It takes a little while to get past the whole time travel thing, and the pet angel thing, but once that’s out of the way Dean has their hosts reduced to tears as he acts out their wild west escapades. Of course Sam gets in a few licks of his own--he’s _never_ going to forget the look on Dean’s face when he meets his first saloon girl, or the way he’d gagged over the rotgut whiskey the bartender had declared their finest vintage. To Sam’s surprise and relief, Dean only mentions Castiel in passing, without the brooding sorrow that had characterized the last few days. He focuses on his and Sam’s hunts, on the people they’d saved, and it feels good to remember the people they’d helped, people who could go on with their lives and hopefully never have to think about things going bump in the night again. 

One story leads to another, and before they know it, late is bordering on early and everyone is a little tipsy. Sam watches Dean drain the last of his beer, head tipped back and throat working as he swallows, and that’s all he can take. 

“I hate to break up the party,” he says, standing up and stretching theatrically. “But I think I’m going to have to call it a night. You coming, Dean? I don’t want you waking me up later.” Sam’s hand lands on Dean’s shoulder, and if his fingers are long enough to stroke the back of Dean’s neck out of sight, well, so much the better. Sam knows he’s playing with fire but he’s tired enough and drunk enough not to care. He’s about to drag Dean out of his chair and back to their bedroom when Dean stands up, smiling at their hosts. 

“Yeah, I think we’d better hit the hay. Supper was great, thank you.”

“Our pleasure,” Jesse says, beaming. “Cesar and I should probably turn in as well, it’s going to be a long day tomorrow. Give a shout if you need anything.”

Sam nods and smiles politely, then starts toward the guest bedroom. He can hardly wait to get his hands on his brother--it’s hard to remember that they have to be careful in such a relaxed setting and the evening has been a constant minefield of close calls. He barely notices the painted door when they pass it on the way to their own room, much too focused on Dean to see anything else. Dean is warm and beautiful and close, smelling of smoke and night and beer. Dean opens their door and steps through, eyes immediately scanning the room for threats out of habit. Sam is too impatient for that, though, knocking the door closed behind them and pushing Dean up against it in one quick move. 

“Sam…”

It’s a half-hearted protest at best, and when his hands fist in Sam’s shirt it’s to pull him closer, not push him away, leaning up to catch Sam’s mouth eagerly. 

“Been thinking about this all night,” Sam murmurs against Dean’s mouth. He’s as drunk on Dean’s mouth as the beers they’d had, and his efforts to get Dean’s overshirt off are less than coordinated. 

Dean shoves away from the door and pushes Sam toward the empty bed, pulling off both his shirts as they go. “They’re gonna hear us,” he says, smiling wickedly, but Sam shakes his head. 

“Too far away,” he says distractedly, unable to look away as Dean continues stripping. He can’t resist leaning in to lick over Dean’s tattoo, enjoying Dean’s low groan and the taste of his brother’s skin. “Long as you don’t actually _scream_ we should be fine.”

Dean stops undressing long enough to tug Sam up for a kiss. “Get naked and on the bed,” he orders breathlessly when they finally part. “Gonna ride you til _you’re_ the one screaming.”

Sam struggles to obey without doing permanent damage to his clothing, already hard and aching in his jeans. When he looks up from yanking off his boots, Dean is already sprawled across the bed, one hand lazily stroking himself as he watches Sam with half-lidded eyes. Sam kicks his pants and boxers into the corner and crawls onto the bed with Dean. He kneels over him, hands on either side of Dean’s head, knees bracketing Dean’s hips.

“That for me?” Sam asks, voice rough with want, breath ghosting over Dean’s lips. 

Dean shakes his head slowly, arching so that his lips brush Sam’s with every pass. “Not this time, little brother.” Faster than Sam can process, Dean flips them, smirking down at Sam as he settles back over Sam’s hips. His head falls back on a moan as Sam’s cock slipslides over his hole, hot and slick. Even that friction leaves Sam gasping, his hands smoothing restlessly over Dean’s hips and ass as he bucks up against him, looking for more. 

“Wait,” Dean pants. “Wait, I’ve just gotta--” Dean reaches toward the nightstand between the two beds and grabs a bottle of lube that Sam hadn’t even seen earlier, too intent on getting himself and Dean naked and in bed. Dean pops the cap and coats his fingers, licking his lips as he reaches behind himself. Sam watches his expression, mesmerized, as he pushes in--both fingers, Sam can tell by the line between his brows, and the way he hisses through his teeth at the stretch. 

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam groans, struggling for control. He can’t help sliding one hand back to where Dean is stretching himself wide, rubbing over the soft skin of Dean’s hole. 

“Do it,” Dean gasps, full body shudder at Sam’s touch, and Sam doesn’t need to be asked twice. He works his index finger into his brother, _Dean_ slipping out on a breath at the feel of being inside him. Dean's eyes drop closed, breath coming hard and fast as he spreads his fingers, opening himself wide and leaving Sam free to rub all over his insides. He can’t quite reach Dean’s prostate from this angle, but Dean can and does, cursing under his breath at the shock of pleasure. Sam swipes his free hand through the precome they’ve both leaked onto his abs, coating his fingers before wrapping them around Dean’s cock and wringing a low cry from him as he squeezes just under the head. 

“Fuck, Sam,” he hisses, pulling his fingers free. “ _Fuck._ Need you in me, little brother, want to come with you inside me.” 

Sam can’t help the raw, broken sound that escapes him even though they’re trying to be quiet. He pushes up into Dean, two fingers now, just needing some part of himself inside his brother. Dean’s eyes close as he grinds back onto Sam’s fingers for an instant before rising up onto his knees with a look of intense concentration. Sam’s fingers slip free as Dean’s hand curls around Sam’s cock, holding it steady as he slowly sinks down, the strong muscles in his thighs trembling a little with the strain. He makes a slight, almost pained sound as the wide head pushes fully into him, and Sam echoes his moan as he’s encased in tight, slick heat.

"Dean," Sam murmurs, arching up into him helplessly. " _God--_ "

Dean's gaze snaps to Sam’s face, his expression smoothing out into one of pure pleasure. He forces himself down slowly inch by inch, letting Sam’s cock work him open, carve out its own space far past where their fingers could reach. Sam’s hands close tight on Dean’s hips, digging bruises into the pale skin as Sam fights the urge to rush him, to latch on and drag him down until he’s completely sheathed inside his brother. Dean groans, soft and full of satisfaction, fingers clenching and digging into the meat of Sam’s chest as he slowly drags himself back up the length of Sam’s cock until only the head is still wedged inside him, holding him open. 

“De--” Sam’s voice breaks as Dean drops back down, taking Sam in again with one quick move that leaves them both breathless. Sam writhes underneath him as Dean rides him hard and fast, breath coming in broken little pants, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. 

“Come on, little brother,” Dean pants, back arched as he fucks himself on Sam’s cock. “Come on, give it to me, want to feel you--” He bears down hard, clenching around Sam and that’s it. Sam digs into Dean’s hips again, holding him in place this time as he thrusts into the tight warmth of Dean’s body. He finds Dean’s prostate and hammers it mercilessly until Dean comes with a muffled shout, falling forward to dig his teeth into the meat of Sam’s shoulder. Sam arches up into him as the first hot splash streaks his chest, dragging Dean down hard enough to bruise them both as he comes so hard he nearly blacks out.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Dean groans when he can talk again. Sam grunts in agreement, not really up to human speech yet. Dean winces as he pulls himself up and off Sam’s softened cock and falls onto the bed next to him with a contented sigh. He’s definitely not cuddling Sam, even if his head is perilously close to Sam’s shoulder--close enough to lick over the mark purpling on the thick muscle. 

“Gonna have to keep your shirt on for a few days at least,” he says with deep satisfaction. Sam just rolls his eyes. 

“I wasn’t planning to strip in a Viking burial cave,” he points out reasonably. “Especially not in front of our hosts.” 

“Just making sure,” Dean says placidly. He struggles over to the edge of the bed, standing up on sex-weak legs and wobbling off to the bathroom. Sam hears the sink running and closes his eyes, imagining Dean’s expression as he cleans himself, his hole puffy and red and sore. His cock gives a half-hearted twitch and Sam licks his lips at the thought of following Dean into the bathroom and soothing that hot, swollen skin with his tongue. He hesitates--Dean is funny about things like that sometimes, willing one day and annoyed the next, and while he’s considering Dean comes back out with a damp cloth and a towel. 

“Clean yourself up, bitch,” he says, tossing both on Sam’s chest and flopping down on the bed next to him. 

“Jerk,” Sam mutters half heartedly. At least the cloth is warm this time. In true big brother fashion, Dean sometimes thinks it’s uproariously funny to drop a freezing cold cloth on Sam’s sweaty chest and laugh at his startled yelps. Sam cleans himself up gratefully before dropping the cloth on the floor next to the bed, his eyelids already drooping. He hums with pleasure as Dean pulls the sheet and blanket up over them both and turns out the bedside light, and the feel of Dean’s lips ghosting over his chases him into sleep. 

Dean is already in the shower when Sam wakes up the next morning. He feels surprisingly refreshed and relaxed. He'd dreamed all night, a big cat--a cougar, maybe--stalking through the darkness with him in search of prey, in search of companionship. It's no surprise after what they'd discussed, he supposed, but he _is_ surprised that the dreams weren't disturbing. If anything, he'd felt safe, at peace. He stretches and checks the far bed for their duffle bags only to find that Dean has already moved them to a corner and rumpled the blankets and sheets of the bed to indicate it’s been slept in. Warmth settles in Sam’s chest at the thought of Dean doing what needs to be done, taking care of them--taking care of _Sam_ \--without a second thought. Probably without a first thought, years of practice long since turned into instinct. 

The shower turns off while Sam is still on his knees rummaging through their bags for something clean to wear, and Sam looks up out of habit. Dean never brings his clothes into the bathroom with him, preferring to saunter around the room in just a thin towel that does nothing to keep him decent. Sure enough, he wanders out a moment later, temptation brought to life. Mist sparkles in his eyelashes, making the green of his eyes glow, and his hair is sticking up wildly in soft spikes. Water drops casually make their way down his chest, unaware of the firm muscle and cinnamon freckles they highlight before they self-destruct in the soft cotton of the towel slung low around his hips. Sam’s eyes catch on the soft bump of Dean’s cock where it’s outlined against the soft material and he swallows hard, biting back an involuntary sound as he tries to be subtle about adjusting himself. 

Naturally, he fails. 

“See something you like, Sammy?” Dean asks softly, wickedly. Sam blinks and Dean is right in front of him, smoothing Sam's hair back from his face, tilting Sam's head back as his fingers tighten in Sam's hair to just the right side of painful. Sam nods, breath caught in his throat, unable to look away from the light in Dean's eyes. The movement pulls Dean's grip even tighter, lighting up Sam's scalp with points of pleasure/pain that connect directly to his dick. He moans, hips pushing futilely against the air, and Dean just smiles.

“Thought so,” he says, still soft, predatory. He lets go of the towel around his waist and Sam moans again. Dean’s already half hard, and he knows Sam loves him like this, still a little soft, before he’s too big for Sam to take him all. Sam wets his lips and tries to speak, but Dean tugs his hair again before he can, harder this time, and Sam’s ability to form coherent thoughts all but disappears. _please_ is all he can manage, and _Dean--_ , but he and Dean have never really needed words between them. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean breathes, and tugs Sam forward until he can mouth at the long, thick line of Dean’s cock. Sam licks the glistening drop of precome already slicking the tip, but he doesn’t tease Dean beyond that, just opens his mouth wide and draws him in. 

Above him Dean groans, low and shaky. “Fuck, that’s good, little brother. Think you can get me all this time?” He pulls Sam closer, forcing himself in deeper, both hands tangled in Sam’s hair now. Sam gags slightly, throat tightening helplessly around the intrusion, eyes watering and cock throbbing in his sweats as he meets Dean’s eyes. Dean stops when he bumps the back of Sam’s throat, holding him there for a moment until he’s sure Sam’s okay before slowly pushing deeper, not stopping again until Sam’s lips kiss the soft skin at the base of his cock. Sam’s hands dig into his own thighs as he fights the need to touch himself, to grab Dean’s hips and urge him faster, deeper. His eyes roll back a little as Dean’s hands clench tighter in his hair, lighting up his scalp. It’s bordering on too much, too good--the slick slide of Dean’s cock over his tongue as it stretches his mouth wide, the gleam of Dean’s eyes, blown wide and dark, the rough honey of his voice praising Sam and muttering obscenities that sound like love. The push and pull of Dean’s hands in his hair, the nerves wired straight to his dick where it’s straining heavy and hot against the waistband of his sweats, the bitter salt of Dean’s precome as it pools on his tongue. Heat flares inside him every time Dean fills him, higher and higher with every surge of his hips, every taste of his cock. Sam locks his hands behind his back, surrendering completely, mindless to everything but _Dean_ all around him.

As always, Dean knows just how far to push. “So fucking good, Sammy,” he whispers, hips working fast and hard. Sam’s lips feel raw, swollen, used, but he doesn’t care, he loves it. “So good for me, aren’t you? Gonna come on my cock, Sammy? Gonna come just from me fucking your mouth and pulling your hair?” Sam moans around him, begging wordlessly, and Dean curses again. “Do it,” he orders. “Show me how much you love it.”

It explodes out of him, the world whiting out in a haze of pleasure as he comes untouched. Dean rides it out, pumping in deeper and holding Sam there until sparks flare behind his eyes, until he goes limp, wrung out. Dean pulls back with a groan and Sam turns his face up on instinct as hot, wet stripes fall across his cheeks and lips. Dean falls to his knees when he’s done, mirroring Sam, and kisses Sam hungrily, as though _this_ was what he really wanted all along. Sam gentles the kiss, jaw aching from the stretch of taking Dean in, and Dean sighs into his mouth. 

“Hell of a way to start off the morning,” Dean whispers, fingers skating over Sam’s pink, swollen lips. “You better go shower before Jesse and Cesar come looking for us.”

“I’ll be quick,” Sam promises, standing up unsteadily. Dean rises with his usual grace and smirks. 

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

It’s nearly 10am by the time Sam and Dean finish cleaning up again and make their way to the kitchen. There’s a note on the bar telling them to help themselves to breakfast, and reminding them that they’re going to the caves today. The book Sam and Jesse had been studying the night before is also on the bar, along with a stack of notes. Sam skims them quickly while Dean makes breakfast, making a quick trip back to their room for his laptop halfway through. 

When Dean brings over plates of eggs and fresh fruit, Sam turns his laptop around so Dean can see. 

“Something you said was nagging at me last night,” he says around a mouthful of eggs. “I had a professor at Stanford--” He glances at Dean, gauging his reaction. Most of the time Dean prefers to pretend Stanford never happened, but sometimes even mentioning those four years can cause him to shut down, cold and distant, for days. Today Dean just nods, waiting for Sam to continue and Sam relaxes a little.

“This professor did his Masters thesis on the berserker culture of Norway. I talked to him pretty extensively, just to make sure he wasn’t getting too close to anything dangerous. He mentioned the Tyr Bible--” Sam pats the book he’d been thumbing through--”and something called the Andar. According to his paper, the Andar were the animal spirits that could be called and bound to the soul of the summoner. The Tyr Bible was the berserkers’ holy book, and they identified themselves with this.” 

The picture on the screen was the same as the one painted on the door of Jesse’s studio. Only a few of the runes ringing the tree were different. 

“Interesting,” Dean says, studying the picture. “But does it mean anything?” 

Sam shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out. You want to go through these notes while I wash up?” He leans over to kiss Dean, quick and sweet. “Cook never does the dishes, right?”

They work in companionable silence, easier with each other than they’ve been in years. The rustle of papers as Dean reads is soothing, reassuringly familiar after so many years of working together. After he finishes the dishes Sam pours them each a cup of coffee and returns to the bar where Dean is engrossed in his reading. 

“So local legends say a group of foreigners settled here hundreds of years ago, then disappeared after some trouble with the Native American population,” Dean says, settling back in his chair. “Cesar’s distant relatives?” 

“Could be.” Sam says, nodding absently. “You know...I think I might have something that will help with translating that book.” 

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You found something that will teach you Nordic runes overnight?” 

Sam just rolls his eyes. “No. But while we were working for the British Men of Letters, I had access to some of their databases. And I hacked into a few more.” 

“I like the sound of this already,” Dean says with a smirk. “I hope you left them a nasty virus as a going away present.”

“No, but I did leave myself a back door,” Sam admits smugly. “And I downloaded thousands of manuscript translations, as well as their proprietary translation software. Among other things.” 

“Damn, Sammy,” Dean says with admiration. “Think you can use any of that on the book?”

“I’m sure I can,” Sam says confidently. “There might even be an already translated copy in my stash. If anyone would have it…”

“Yeah, those bastards really did know their stuff.” Dean checks his phone, frowning when he doesn’t see any messages. “Wonder what Jesse and Cesar are up to. We were supposed to go out to that cave today, but they were gone when I got up this morning.”

Sam frowns, feeling vaguely uneasy. “No note or anything?” 

“Just this.” Dean hands Sam a scribbled note, barely legible. “ _Back in a bit. Help yourselves to breakfast._ ” 

Sam glances at the time automatically--it’s getting close to noon. “They must have gotten caught up in something,” he says, trying to stay positive. “If it gets too late we can give them a call.” 

The idea of waiting makes Dean antsy, as Sam knew it would. Neither of them feel comfortable poking around too much when they’ve only just arrived as guests, but there’s not much left for Dean to do in terms of research now that they’ve both read all the papers their hosts had left behind and Sam is unobtrusively digging around in the MoL database. Dean watches Sam read for awhile, then wanders aimlessly over to the big screen TV hanging on the wall in the living room. Helpfully the box is already set to a movie channel showing all of the Predator movies one right after another, and Dean smiles with deep satisfaction. He makes a quick trip out to the Impala for his weapons duffel and before long he’s up to his elbows in gun oil, blood, and screams. 

Dean doesn’t really look up again until Sam sets a plate of sandwiches on the table next to his favorite knife and drops onto the couch. There’s a couple of beers in his other hand, and he nudges Dean, who throws him a quick smile of thanks and gives the knife he was sharpening one last pass before wiping down the blade and his hands and taking his gratefully. 

“Jesse texted me a little while ago,” Sam says as they eat, unperturbed by the gore on the screen. “They got called into town and it took longer than they expected. They’ll be back this evening and we can go to the cave in the morning.” 

“Some kind of trouble?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised. 

“The police wanted them to see if they could identify a body,” Sam tells him. “It was found not far from their property line, and there aren’t a lot of people out here.”

“Jesus. Our kind of thing?” 

Sam shakes his head. “That’s part of what they’re trying to figure out. Jesse didn’t go into a lot of detail, but it seemed like something wasn’t adding up.” 

“Hmm.”

They eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, pressed together shoulder to hip even though there’s plenty of room on the couch, just enjoying the chance to relax together. The movie Dean was half watching earlier ends, and he turns it off, more interested in his brother than anything else. 

“You tell Jesse about the Men of Letters stuff?” he asks, and Sam shakes his head. 

“Not yet, I want to have something concrete to tell them. Not to mention they’ve got enough on their minds right this minute.” 

“Yeah, true.” Dean stands and stretches, muscles tense and cramped from bending over the coffee table for so long. Sam winces in sympathy as his back gives an audible crack. “Think I’m gonna take a look around, stretch my legs a little. You want to come with?”

“No, but take your phone,” Sam tells him, tilting his face up for a quick kiss. Dean obliges him and heads for the door. “And keep an eye out for good places to put up wards!” Dean just waves over his shoulder, the door closing quietly behind him as he steps out into the hot sun. 

***************************************************************

Dean squints into the afternoon sunlight as he steps out onto the porch. He’s not entirely sure what he’s going to do out here, but his first stop is the Impala’s glovebox for a pair of sunglasses. Fortified, he starts a slow circuit around the house. 

For the most part, there’s not much to see. There are some low shrubs--Dean has no idea what they are--growing under along the sides, particularly near the windows. It’ll be hell on Sam’s knees, but if Jesse and Cesar want to keep their wards lowkey, the bushes make good camouflage. He makes it around to the patio where he and Cesar had talked the night before, and a chill runs through him despite the heat. There’s a slight smear of ichor on the concrete where Cesar had killed the rattler, and next to it is a gouge in the concrete close to an inch deep. Dean goes to one knee, and sees a tiny spall of steel at the deepest point, like you might get if you nick or chip a blade, and the flash of light he’d convinced himself he hadn’t seen in Cesar’s eyes the previous night comes back to him. 

_What the hell is going on here?_

Disturbed, Dean continues his trip around the house, then detours when a smallish outbuilding catches his eye. It’s made of wood, sturdy and well built from posts that appear to extend several inches into the ground. The only windows are small and set high above the ground, the clear glass webbed with wire for strength. And on the only door...the same symbol that adorns Jessie’s studio. Dean looks around for something to stand on, and finally spots an old plastic paint bucket. He drags it over and climbs on top, peering into the small window. 

It’s dark inside, but Dean can make out a few things. A cot with a blanket and pillow. A metal table. A short bookshelf with a few books on it. There’s a curtained off area that Dean guesses might enclose bathroom facilities if this really is the prison it appears to be. 

Dean climbs down slowly, thinking hard. Sam needs to know about this--maybe his geek brain can come up with the explanation currently eluding Dean. He makes his way back to the house, wondering again just what the hell he and Sam have gotten themselves into. 

The house is quiet when Dean lets himself back in. He hadn’t been out long, an hour at most, but Sam’s not at the kitchen bar where Dean expected him to be working. The faintest breathy sounds draw Dean to the living room, where a quick peek brings a soft smile to his face. 

After Dean went outside to explore, Sam must have decided to make himself comfortable on the living room couch. He’s sprawled out across the couch now, laptop balanced precariously on his chest, one hand trailing languidly to the floor. Dean slips quietly to his side, taking a few moments to just study his brother. 

For a wonder, Sam’s brow is smooth. He’s smiling gently, utterly relaxed and calm in a way Dean hasn’t seen in far too long, even in sleep. The sight makes Dean’s heart ache in a good way, only the slightest tinge of regret that he can’t give Sam this kind of peace all the time marring his happiness at seeing Sam so relaxed. Dean smooths a stray lock of hair away from Sam’s face and presses the lightest of kisses to his forehead before carefully lifting the precariously perched laptop and setting it on the coffee table. There’s a light blanket over the back of the couch and Dean drapes it over Sam gently before settling back against the couch to see what he can figure out about runelore and Yggdrasil and why someone would paint the world tree on the door of a prison. 

Sam wakes up slowly. His laptop is humming quietly on the table, a flashing icon in the corner alerting him that his search of the Men of Letters database is complete. There’s a blanket tangled around his legs that wasn’t there before and Sam smiles softly. Dean must have come in and found him here. He stretches, expecting his muscles to complain about the cramped couch, but he doesn’t feel anything except good. He doesn’t remember his dreams this time, just a sense of peace and belonging. The low murmur of conversation reaches him, from the kitchen he thinks, and he realizes with relief that Jesse and Cesar must be back from their emergency in town. 

Grabbing his laptop, Sam wanders toward the kitchen. Dean, Jesse, and Cesar are all sitting at the bar, cold beers and paperwork scattered across the surface in front of them. Dean looks up, his face brightening when he sees Sam. 

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he says, smiling. “Enjoy your nap?”

The mention of napping spurs an involuntary yawn from Sam. “Yeah, I don’t know what came over me,” he admits. “One minute I was working, the next it was dinner time.”

Dean’s smile softens and he holds out a hand to Sam, pulling him over to the seat next to him. “Yeah, well, you deserve a little down time. Jesse and Cesar got back a little bit ago, we’ve been going over these old records and trying to see if there’s any history on that old cave, any mention of a Nordic or Viking party ever making it this far.” He pauses. “We were waiting on you to talk about what Jesse and Cesar got called into town for, but that might be better for after dinner.”

“Burgers or steaks?” Jesse asks, as they all look at Sam expectantly. 

“Um…” Sam flushes slightly under their scrutiny. “How about--”

“No, we’re not having salad,” Dean interrupts firmly. “These fine gentlemen want to feed us red meat, Sammy, and we’re going to indulge them.” 

Cesar laughs as Sam’s flush deepens. “Don’t worry, Sam, we’ve got plenty of salad fixings, too. Neither Jesse nor I are getting any younger, after all. How about a little chicken to go with it?”

“Thanks, Cesar.” Sam kicks Dean under the table. “ _Some_ of us seem to think we’re all going to live forever and that clogged arteries are for other people.”

Dean winces, then waves Sam off airily. “No need to worry about that, Sammy,” he says cheerfully. “All we gotta do is give Cass a call--” 

Dean’s mouth snaps shut as Sam’s face falls. “On the other hand, salad sounds pretty good,” he says heavily. “Sorry, Sam. I just keep forgetting he’s gone.”

“Cass is your angel friend, right?” Jesse asks, and Sam nods. 

“He was killed recently,” Sam says. “It’s taking some getting used to, for both of us.” 

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Cesar says gravely, and stands abruptly. “Salads all around, then.” He goes over to what turns out to be a liquor cabinet and brings back a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and four glasses. “To departed friends,” he says quietly. 

“To departed friends,” Sam echoes, and they all down their shots in a moment of silence. 

“I hate to be a bad guest,” Dean says a moment later, “but can Sam and I back out of prep this evening? I need to have a word with him--some news from back home.” 

A rush of concern washes over Sam. “Is everything alright with Jack?” 

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Dean assures him. “Just need to catch you up on some stuff.”

Jesse waves them off. “‘Course,” he says casually, then grins. “You two can be on dinner duty tomorrow night instead.” 

“Thanks,” Dean says, and tugs Sam off his stool and down the hall. Sam follows, somewhat confused. 

Once the door is closed behind them, Dean takes a deep breath. “Jack’s fine. I haven’t heard anything from him or from Jodi. But I did find some stuff outside when I was looking around,” he says, dropping his voice. “And I think there’s something going on here that we need to know about.”

When he’s done, Sam can’t do anything but stare at him, stunned. “You think Jesse and Cesar are berserkers?” he asks incredulously. “Dean…”

“I don’t know, Sam!” Dean says in frustration. “But I’m telling you, there’s no way an ordinary human should have been strong enough to plant that knife in the concrete like that, and how the hell did he even see the thing to begin with? No way human eyes could have picked that up, but berserkers have heightened senses, like the animals that possess them.” He paces back and forth. “And that drawing, with those runes? I did some research while you were napping, and those specific runes are for binding. Holding. Keeping things in. And they’re tangled up in the roots of the World Tree. They want to hold something from the spirit world--what did you call those things? Andar?”

“The plural is Andi,” Sam corrects. “But Dean, if they’re possessed by Andi, why would they be building a prison to hold them? It doesn’t make any sense. And I haven’t seen anything like what you’ve described from Jesse. He seems like a completely ordinary guy.”

Dean runs an agitated hand through his hair, then pulls Sam close. “I don’t know, but keep your eyes open, alright? And be careful.” He hesitates, thinking out loud. “One thing we’ve always heard pretty consistently about berserkers is that they have heightened senses and strength, and Cesar was able to either see or hear better than a normal human, not to mention throwing that knife as hard and fast as he did. I don’t know what that might mean in terms of them being able to sense if we’re afraid or lying. So let’s keep it low key, and if we have to we’ll tell them we’re concerned about something back home. And be careful around that drawing, alright? There might be something off about it.”

“I will,” Sam promises. “But you have to be careful, too. Hopefully this is all just coincidence.” He gives Dean a quick kiss. “We should probably get back out there before they start wondering what exactly we’re up to.”

Dean colors slightly, much to Sam’s surprise. “Yeah, you know, about that…” and Sam’s heart skips a beat. “They kind of already know. Cesar mentioned having heard some rumors, and he was pretty pointed in saying he’s a ‘live and let live’ kind of guy.”

Sam just stares at him in shock. “Seriously?”

Dean nods. “I mean, we probably shouldn’t start making out in front of them--” Sam can’t help rolling his eyes at that--Dean’s rarely into PDA, even around people who don’t know them--”but I don’t think we have to worry quite so much about slipping up.” 

“Better not to find out,” Sam says quietly, and Dean nods again. 

“Yeah. But still. Be kind of nice not to be judged, you know?”

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Sam teases, and kisses Dean one more time before pushing him toward the door. Even with their growing suspicions about what’s really going on here, he feels happier than he’s felt in a long time, and that in itself frightens him a little. He gives himself a mental shake and forces down the superstitious fear that he’s not _allowed_ to be happy, that something bad will happen to ruin it. He won’t let the past decide his future. 

Back in the kitchen, Jesse and Cesar have dinner almost ready. Cesar is pan-searing chicken to go with the salad Jesse has chopped, and there’s a bowl of fresh, steaming pasta on the counter to go with it. 

“Everything all right?” Jesse asks with a smile as they enter the kitchen and have a seat at the bar. 

Dean nods. “Just catching Sam up on the situation at home,” he says easily. “We’re training a new hunter, barely a teenager, but he’s got nowhere else to go. He says everything’s fine, but...you know.”

“No parents?” Cesar shakes his head. “That’s sad. But it sounds like he’s in good hands.” He slides half the chicken from the pan into the salad, and the rest into the bowl of pasta, mixing both evenly. Plates and silverware are already out and Cesar brings both bowls over, gesturing to Sam and Dean to help themselves. 

Once they’re all settled, Jesse says, “I wish our news was as good. We’d meant to be home this morning to take you out to the cave, but we got called into town for an emergency.”

“The local sheriff knows what we do--”

“Did,” Jesse corrects firmly. 

“What we did,” Cesar agrees, then hesitates. “There was another body found last night, the second in the last week and a half. Both clawed up as if by animals, but the ME says there are human bite marks on the corpses.”

“Werewolf?” Sam suggests, then shakes his head. “No, the moon isn’t right. Any ideas at all?”

“Just some thoughts, nothing concrete,” Jesse says reluctantly. “But the first killing happened not long after we discovered the cave, and we’re concerned the two might be connected.”

“That’s what we’re most afraid of,” Jesse agrees. “We’re afraid that the warded jars were spirit vessels that probably contained animal spirits, and that whatever was in the jars that broke possessed someone.”

“But from what we know that’s not really possible,” Sam says, frowning. “There’s a pretty complex ritual involved in summoning and binding an animal spirit. It seems pretty unlikely anyone would just stumble across that.”

“That’s true,” Cesar admits. “The ritual is pretty arcane--not well known at all. But we’re afraid there’s something we don’t know, some kind of loophole that would let the spirit possess someone without the ritual.”

“Or it could be a demon,” Dean suggests. “You said there were wards against both angels and demons in the cave--maybe the jars contain demons, not animal spirits. Or maybe some poor joe stumbled across the cave and ran out of luck.” 

“I think you’ll have a better idea once you see the cave tomorrow,” Cesar says. “That will answer some of your questions.” 

With a visible effort, Cesar turns the conversation back to the cave and the book. “Were you able to make heads or tails of anything in the book, Sam?” 

Sam brightens. “Actually, I may have done one better,” he says, voice warming with enthusiasm. “I need to check my search, but I might have found a reliable translation. Failing that, I have access to some of the best translation software in existence when it comes to ancient languages.”

“You have access to a translator that can read Norse runes?” 

Dean can’t exactly blame Cesar for his skepticism. 

Sam grins. “A little something I picked up when those British guys who came through awhile back weren’t looking. Earlier today I scanned in the book to be translated. I want to compare what we have to the known translations.” He pushes back from the bar, grabs his laptop, while Dean just shakes his head in amusement. 

“I haven’t checked my search results yet, but I’m pretty sure it will turn up something,” Sam continues with growing excitement. “Here.”

A click on the flashing icon in the corner brings up three translations of the book: Norwegian, Latin, and English. “Bingo,” Dean crows. “I knew you’d come through, Sammy.”

“We’re not done yet,” Sam cautions. “We can’t be sure these translations are entirely accurate--they might have been based on faulty source material. I’ll still need to cross check and see what if any differences there might be with our book and theirs. It’s pretty unusual, I think, for a cult of Tyr to travel to America. They might have some bastardized version of the ritual that facilitates possession.” 

“Geek,” Dean says fondly. “In the meantime, maybe you guys can tell us exactly what happened with the cave? How you found it, any details you remember when you first walked in. I know we’ll see it tomorrow, but I’d still like to hear about what happened first.”

“Well…” Cesar sighs, and goes to make coffee as Jesse starts talking. 

“We don’t know for sure exactly what happened to start with. Cesar was out riding the perimeter, checking for downed fences, landslides, injured animals--that sort of thing.” Jesse smiles at his husband. “It’s one of his favorite things to do. He always has a walkie-talkie with him and around noon I got a message from him about the landslide, and that he was going to check it out. I told him to wait for me--it’s not really safe, and the ground can be unstable--but he didn’t listen.” 

“I’ve got some experience,” Cesar says reasonably, setting down a cup in front of each of them and passing around the bottle of whiskey from earlier. Sam and Dean nodded their thanks and each poured a generous shot into their mugs. “I did this a lot when I was a kid--it’s not the first time I’ve had to check out a landslide, and when I saw the opening to the cave I just had a feeling about this.” 

“What kind of feeling?” Sam asks, curious. “Something supernatural?”

“Not exactly,” Cesar answers thoughtfully. “When I was younger, that part of the property was off limits for us kids. We could ride the fences with an adult, but we weren’t supposed to go there on our own. We used to make up all kinds of stories, and I can’t deny I was pretty curious about what I might find, a little thrill, you know?”

Dean nods. “Did you find anything unusual other than the cave?”

“No.” He grins ruefully. “The only thing that happened was that Jesse was right, as usual. As I was climbing up to the cave entrance I stepped into some loose shale and went down pretty hard. Scraped the hell out of my ribs and punctured my shoulder--” Jesse makes an unhappy sound “--which looked a lot worse than it was. Still, I was bleeding a little…” 

“So naturally he got back up and kept going,” Jesse interjects dryly. “To no one’s surprise.” 

“Gee, that sounds like someone...who could it be…” Sam muses, looking at Dean with amusement. 

“ _Anyway,_ ” Cesar says pointedly. He takes Jesse’s hand, squeezes it gently, and Sam aches with how much he wishes he could do the same with Dean. “I wasn’t badly hurt, so I kept going. I really wanted to see what was up there, and it was worth the hike. Just an incredible sight. It seemed obvious this had something to do with my family history, so I was pretty excited.”

“I’d already called you two and invited you to come down, and we thought you’d be interested once we realized what we were potentially dealing with,” Jesse continues, picking up the story. “At the time we didn’t really think there was anything to worry about. Then, two days later, the first murder was discovered.” 

“Discovered, or committed?” Sam asks. “That could be important.” 

“We aren't exactly sure,” Cesar admits. “The case was strange enough that the sheriff called us right away, but said she couldn’t tell much other than that the young man had been clawed and bitten severely--and that some of the bite marks appeared to be human. We did a few discreet tests, but there didn’t seem to be anything supernatural left on the body.” 

“Any belongings missing?”

“Everything seemed to be there--jewelry, wallet, credit cards, cash. His car keys were even still in his pocket.”

Sam frowns. “Was there _anything_ unusual other than the bite and claw marks? There must have been something that caused the sheriff to bring you in.”

Jesse looks slightly embarrassed. “To tell the truth, she’s a bit of an enthusiast. A fan. She found out that the Edlund Carver books are real, and since then she’s called us in for all kinds of things, none of which have turned out to be anything.”

Dean groans. “Groupies? We have _groupies_?” 

“It could be worse,” Jesse says dryly. “She could have put us in jail when she found us digging up a grave instead of being excited to help.”

“Jesse’s right,” Cesar agrees reluctantly. “It could have been a lot worse, and an occasional call doesn’t bother us. It’s good to have a heads up just in case.”

“Going back to the cave, what did you find?” Sam asks. He doesn’t like the idea of _fans_ any more than Dean does. 

“Just what I’ve already described,” Cesar says. “Jesse got there while I was still looking around and took some pictures, but we both thought it would be better if you saw it for yourselves to avoid any preconceptions. I’ve been trying to keep an eye on the cave, make sure nothing gets in there. I put up a tarp and did my best to block off the entrance.” 

“So you’ve been up there alone?” Dean asks, and Cesar gives him a curious look. 

“Just making sure it hadn’t been disturbed,” he answers readily. “And looking for any more indications as to what if anything might have happened.” 

“We’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” Jesse interrupts with a sidelong glance at his husband, heading off the conversation. “I’d like to leave at first light.”

“Good idea,” Dean agrees. “Sam and I will clean up since you two were kind enough to cook.” 

Cesar nods and stands, Jesse following suit. “We’re sorry to get the two of you into this mess,” he says sincerely. “This really was supposed to be a bit of a vacation. But since you’re here, there’s no one we’d rather have helping out.” 

“We’re happy to help,” Sam assures him. “We hunters have to stick together, right?”

“Right,” Dean echoes, and watches as the two men leave the room.

“What are you thinking?” Sam asks, voice low and worried.

“I’m thinking Cesar was up at the cave by himself at least twice,” Dean says grimly, just as quiet. “And I’ve got a weird feeling about all of this.” He fills the sink with water and they work in comfortable silence for a few minutes before he continues. “We need to know if Jesse is part of this too,” he says carefully. “The two of you seem to have hit it off pretty well.” 

Sam nods, understanding and hating what Dean is suggesting even though he knows it’s necessary. “I’ll see what I can find out,” he says heavily. “Hopefully it’s nothing but we can’t take any chances.” 

Sam dreams again that night, warmth and love and acceptance washing over and through him in waves. There’s a faint rumble echoing through him, physical as much as audible, and it takes Sam a moment to recognize the sensation as a cat’s purr. 

::Sam, you are here::

The voice sounds pleased and surprised, though not as surprised as Sam. The cougar he’d seen before is lying next to him, the low rumble coming from his body. 

::There is not much time, Sam:: the cougar says urgently. ::You and Deanmate must come to the cave.::

::Who are you?:: Sam thinks confusedly. ::How--::

::Come:: the cougar says again. His eyes are wide and unblinking and somehow warm with affection. ::We need you, and there is not much time left for us.:: Sam feels Dean stir uneasily beside him as he opens his eyes. Dean’s eyes are flickering under his lids, brow furrowed and lips pressed tight, but he doesn’t look afraid. _Tomorrow_ , Sam decides sleepily, and snuggles back into Dean’s side. 

Sam and Dean are awakened the next morning by a loud knocking at the bedroom door. They roll apart by long instinct before relaxing slightly as Cesar calls through the door. 

“Rise and shine! We’re leaving in half an hour!”

Dean groans. “Alright, alright! We’ll be out in a minute!”

They share the bathroom, teeth brushed with a minimum of elbowing, quick comb through the hair and clean clothes, hunter-presentable. Cesar and Jesse have coffee already poured into insulated cups, toast on the counter. Dean grabs a slice for each of them, chewing and swallowing on the way out the door. 

“What’s the rush?” he asks, glaring at Sam until he relents and takes a bite of the toast. 

“Just want to get out there before it starts to get hot,” Jesse says, washing down his own toast with a long swig of coffee. “And we want to get an early start in case the sheriff calls again.” 

Sam shakes his head, smiling a little. “Probably not a bad idea, you know her better than we do.”

Sam settles in behind Cesar on a sturdy four wheeler, strapping on a borrowed helmet as Dean and Jesse get comfortable on one of the motor bikes. It’s less uncomfortable than Sam expected, and he’s not surprised to see Dean grinning wildly as the air whips past them. 

“I gotta get one of those bikes up and running, Sammy!” he yells over the wind. “This is awesome!”

They all head out, excitement starting to build in Sam. He’s surprised when they stop by the garage rather than a stable. Cesar and Jesse both burst into laughter at his and Dean’s expressions. 

“We were joking about the horses, guys,” Jesse says cheerfully. “We’d have to hire someone full time just to care for them, and we can get around on four wheelers and bikes pretty well.”

“Okay, well, I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.” Dean shakes his head and grins. “And I don’t think Sam’s gonna mind too much either.” 

It takes about half an hour to get to the cave, their trip slowing considerably as they get further away from paved roads. The landscape is rocky and hilly, with scarcely visible trails that Sam can hardly track, even with his experience. Glancing over at Dean, Sam sees his brother is also eying the terrain and making notes for how to get back on their own. By the time they pull up, Sam feels confident that between them he and Dean can make their way back out here again. 

Dismounting, Cesar points up the side of what’s almost a cliff. The tarp he’d mentioned is visible from the ground, about fifty feet up a steep slope littered with rocks and shale. 

“Alrighty then,” Dean says after a moment. “Anywhere we should be extra careful?”

“Just follow my lead,” Cesar says. “Try to step where I’m stepping as much as you can. I’ve been up and down a few times, so I’ve got a good idea where the solid ground is.” 

The climb up to the cave isn’t as difficult as it looks. Sam can see that there used to be a trail here of sorts before the landslide washed it away, and he’s doing his best to follow it when a flash of red catches his eye. 

It’s blood. 

Not fresh, he thinks, automatically slowing to look. A few days, at least. The stain disappears under a large rock, and when he shifts it, he finds fur and bone. _A rabbit,_ , he thinks, mildly relieved. _Probably caught during the rockslide._ He turns back to the trail, glancing up to see both Dean and Cesar watching him with very different expressions. 

“You alright, Sam?” Cesar asks politely, and Dean shakes his head minutely. 

“Fine,” Sam says easily. “Just catching my breath. You know us city boys aren’t used to rock climbing.” 

“Ha. I have a feeling you two could run rings around us,” Jesse laughs. “Building furniture and redecorating aren’t exactly a hunting lifestyle.” 

“But it sure feels good,” Cesar says. His smile turns to a bit of a smirk. “And it looks pretty good, too.”

Jesse blushes, pulling his husband down for a quick kiss. “Flattery will get you everywhere--except into that cave. Let’s go!”

Dean drops back to walk next to Sam. “Berserker rituals require blood sacrifice,” he says quietly. “Maybe it’s a coincidence, maybe it’s not.”

Sam nods, troubled. “We’ll see,” he says, hoping Dean is wrong. “We’ll see.”

It’s only a few more minutes before they’re standing at the entrance, peering in around their flashlights. Cesar pulls down the tarp to give them more light while Sam and Dean crowd into the small space around the edges of the circle painted on the floor. 

Once their eyes adjust, Sam can see that the cave is fairly large. The main room is irregularly shaped--mostly round, but narrowing toward the back. From here he can’t tell if it’s a tunnel or a wall, but the air flow makes him suspect tunnel. 

“Have you been in the back?” Dean asks, voice hushed. Cesar and Jesse shake their heads. 

“There’s a tunnel, but I don’t think it goes anywhere,” Cesar says, shrugging. “It’s pretty narrow so I never tried.” 

Sam glances at Dean, who nods. “I’ll go check it out,” he announces, and steps gingerly over the edge of the circle. 

“Be careful,” Sam says softly, and Dean just grins. 

“First chance I get, Sammy,” he says, cocky as always, and Sam turns his attention to the main room with a sigh. 

The cave is large, the ceiling lost in darkness about Sam’s head. There are carved niches along the walls that hold long since burned out torches, and to his left and right there are long stone ‘beds’--slabs of stone chipped out of the walls and intricately carved with runes and images. On each slab is a body, dried and desiccated, dressed in what appears to be Viking finery. Each figure is fully dressed and fully armed with an axe or sword, a painted wooden shield lying across each chest. Sam turns to those first, fascinated, but Jesse stops him with a hand on his arm. 

“Careful,” Jesse says quietly, pointing down, and Sam remembers the sigils on the floor, most of which is taken up with a huge set of concentric circles. Each ring is filled with a series of runes and sigils, some in Norse, some in Enochian. Sam recognizes a few of the Enochian symbols--wards, mostly, to hold off both angels and demons. Others seem to be a shield of some sort to divert attention and hide the cave and its contents. It’s a masterwork of spellcraft that Sam can’t wait to study, the focus of which is clearly the urns sitting inside the innermost circle. 

Sam nods, his head spinning with the need to look everywhere at once, but the design on the floor takes precedence as the most easily damaged piece of this puzzle. 

“This is incredible,” Sam says, just as quietly. “I don’t think anything like this has ever been found in the US before.” 

“Not that I’m aware of,” Jesse says, nodding. He points to a few scuff marks marring the paint on the floor. “This is where Cesar stepped when he first found the cave.” The marks go clean through the outermost circle. 

“The circle is broken,” Sam says with a sense of foreboding. “But we don’t know for sure if it was meant to keep things in or out.” He moves around the outer edges of the circle carefully, trying to see further in. “We need better lights.”

Jesse nods. “I found this on my last trip up here,” he says, pointing further back into the room. “It’s a pathway through the runes into the center circle. 

Sam looks, and with Jesse’s help sees a narrow space between the circles of spells, runes and sigils, just large enough to pass through. Sam steps carefully into the circle. Power shivers faintly over his skin, raising the hairs on his arms as he sucks in a quick breath. 

“Pretty amazing for something hundreds of years old, isn’t it?” Jesse asks. “Imagine if the circle weren’t broken.” The words aren’t censorious, only wistful, but Sam finds that he’s glad they encountered the circle at less than full strength, especially when he reaches the center and staggers at the wash of magic that pours over him. 

Jesse is beside him in an instant. “Are you alright? Neither Cesar nor I had that strong of a reaction.” 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Sam assures him. Still, he puts one hand on the smaller man’s shoulder for balance as the magic beats at him. “Dean and I both are a little more sensitive than most people, I think.” 

::Sam::

Sam’s head whips around, seeking the voice that’s calling him. Fear cascades over him in a cold sweat when Jesse just looks at him quizzically. 

::You have come:: 

The unmistakable relief in the voice sets Sam’s nerves on edge, even as he recognizes the soothing voice from his dreams. But he’s _awake_ now, and he finds himself digging his thumb into his palm desperately, willing away the seeming hallucination. 

“I--” Sam stumbles back through the circle, the magic fading as he leaves the urns behind. He wishes he could have gotten a look at them, but no. Not without Dean here to pull him back if he needs it. “I just need a minute,” Sam tells Jesse, taking a deep breath. He makes his way carefully over to the closest corpse and begins to examine it as best he can in the dim light. 

“Have you checked them with holy water and salt?” he asks Jesse, carefully running a finger down the curve of the ax blade lying at an angle across the figure’s chest. “Just in case.” 

Jesse nods. “We always have a little with us,” he admits. “Too many years of hunting not to. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

The figure Sam is kneeling beside would be well over 6 ft tall were he--or she--standing. There are faded strands of blonde hair still caught under the silver circlet around the figure’s forehead and the tunic they wore at death was once a rich red with gold trim, overlaying a pair of leather leggings. Their feet and ankles are encased in leather also, fur-trimmed and sturdy, and gold and silver jewelry gleam around both wrists and throat, even in the low light. 

“Interesting that the silver hasn’t tarnished,” Sam murmurs, caught up in the examination. “Are the other bodies dressed similarly to this one?” 

“Other than the circlet,” Jesse confirms. “Whoever these people were they didn’t lack for wealth or prestige.” 

“The kind of people you might send as ambassadors,” Sam says thoughtfully. He turns his attention to the pedestal the corpse is lying on. Battle scenes rage across the base, warriors caught forever in the heat of battle. Most are not wearing armor, Sam notices, though some wear stylized animal heads, or have the shadows of beasts looming over them. Another section is more peaceful, two distinct groups of people sharing a meal around a long table. Once again, the shadows of different animals can be seen behind many of the figures. 

“Definitely a cult of Tyr,” Sam says, pointing out the details. “Did you and Cesar take pictures of all these already?” 

“The first time we were up here, and more when we came back,” Jesse confirms. He hesitates. “Do you think you can make it back into the center of the circle? The urns seem to be something special.” 

Sam nods reluctantly. He knows they need to examine the cracked urns and the symbols adorning them, but he can’t help the dread lodged deep in the pit of his stomach. Losing himself the way he had to Lucifer’s hallucinations is one of Sam’s biggest fears--he’s not sure he can do this without Dean here by his side. He starts to speak, to make an excuse, any excuse, not to go back into the circle til Dean and Cesar return, when he hears Dean coming back into the room. 

Relief sweeps over Sam. “Dean?” Sam doesn’t know how he does it, but Dean instantly senses that something is wrong, his voice changing from cheerful to worried in a heartbeat. 

“Sam? What happened? You okay?” Dean’s at his side in an instant, hands on his face, checking him over. 

“I’m alright, I think. Just--I--” Now that Dean’s here Sam feels foolish, his fears fading immediately in the warmth of Dean’s presence. “There’s something here,” he says, keeping his voice low, for Dean’s ears only. “I’ve been dreaming, strange dreams, about--”

“About a wolf? Some other animal?” Dean doesn’t let Sam go, guides him out of the cave back into the bright, hot sun, and Sam follows him gratefully. “I’ve been having some pretty weird dreams too, figured it was just all the berserker talk. Tell me what happened in the cave.” 

Sam recites his experience obediently, tells Dean about the voice in his head, the nearly overpowering rush of magic surrounding the urns. 

“And Jesse didn’t seem surprised?” 

“He just said the magic didn’t affect him or Cesar as strongly,” Sam says, still wanting to defend their friends, but his concern isn’t necessary. 

“Not surprising,” Dean says thoughtfully. “We’ve had a lot more contact with magic and a lot more shit going on in our heads and our bodies than most people ever will. Could be that we’re just more sensitive.” He gives Sam a stern look. “But these dreams--”

“That you have also been having,” Sam guesses, calling him out. Dean shrugs, unrepentant over not telling Sam sooner. “I--” He hesitates, reluctant to voice his fears and make them seem more real. “I’m still not sure what’s going on there. Are the dreams related to the caves or just nightmares? Are the voices I’m hearing in the cave real?” He hates the tremor in his voice, his need for Dean to tell him everything’s alright, but he can’t help it. Dean will always be his big brother and his rock, no matter what else might happen between them. 

“Hey, hey,” Dean says softly, pulling him close. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Nothing’s going to happen as long as I’m here.” The words aren’t true, they both know it, but they comfort both brothers even so. “That cat’s not getting his claws into you if I can help it,” Dean says firmly. “And that’s just that.” 

“I know.” Sam takes a deep breath, smiles gratefully at his brother. “Let’s give this another shot.” 

Sam and Dean head back into the cave where Jesse and Cesar are kneeling by the urns in the center of the spell. Jesse is holding broken pieces--cradling them, really, and Cesar is speaking softly and intensely under his breath. He breaks off sharply when he notices Sam and Dean, standing easily as he turns to face them. 

“Everything alright? Sam, Jesse said the magic in here was really getting to you.”

“A little, yeah,” Sam says, shrugging. “Hazards of the job, I guess.” He nods toward the shards still in Jesse’s hands. “Are you going to bring those back with you?”

“Seems like a good idea,” Cesar agrees. “The wards on the urns seem to be the same--this way you can study them with fewer ill effects, and the unbroken urns stay here where there’s some protection.” He helps Jesse to his feet as he cradles the broken pieces carefully, and they move to stack them by the cave entrance for later.

“I want to take a look around in here before we go,” Dean says, eyeing the runes on the floor critically. He points out a series of symbols to Sam. “Your Enochian is way better than mine,” he says softly. “But I’m pretty sure these are wardings against demons AND angels. Is there any lore about berserkers hating angels and demons?” 

Sam pulls in a deep breath, grateful to have Dean with him this time as he crouches to study the markings on the floor. “You’re right,” he agrees, smirking up at Dean. “My Enochian _is_ way better than yours.” Dean smacks his head lightly and Sam huffs a quiet laugh. “But your translation is spot on--they wanted to keep both heaven and hell away from these urns.” His eyes wander around the circle, trying to track the spell. “But it’s not just wardings. It’s both a ward and a summoning. I think that’s why it’s laid out the way it is, almost like a maze--only those who are called can see the path and make it through.”

“Summoning? Summoning what?” Dean throws a look over at Jesse and Cesar, but they’re engrossed in their own conversation by the stone shelves, peering at the carvings that run the length of each one. “Sam...what if Cesar didn’t find this place on his own? What if he was called here?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Sam says with genuine regret. “I need to get a closer look at the inner runes, but I suspect that whatever it is, we’re not going to like it.”

Dean nods grimly, and Sam can tell he’s thinking about the mutilated bodies found not far from here. “We need better light in here,” Sam says, pulling out his phone. “I’ll man the flashlight, you take the pics. The sooner we find out what’s going on here, the better.”

They make their way slowly around the outside of the circle twice, once for pictures and once for video--Dean’s idea, to make sure they have a reference for the word order without Sam having to come back up here. He takes a deep breath when they’re done, determined not to let the feel of magic crawling over his skin unnerve him completely this time, and nods to Dean before stepping into the maze. 

The magic is just as suffocating, just as unsettling this time as it was before. Sam keeps his eyes on Dean, using his brother’s presence to ground himself as Dean snaps as many pictures as possible. Dean is affected as well, Sam can tell, but either the sensation is weaker or Dean is stronger, because he continues working without pause until they reach the center circle. 

The center circle is clear of runes and spellwork. There are four earthenware urns, heavily carved with their own runes and symbols, and Sam can feel the magic radiating from them, thick and heavy. Jesse and Cesar had already taken the largest shards from the shattered urns out of the circle, but the rings in the dust where it had sat for so long are still visible, highlighting the fact that it had broken long ago. It was impossible to tell when the other one had cracked, though during the earthquake that had uncovered the cave seemed likely. The final two appeared untouched, the wax seals around the top still intact and the carved symbols still faintly visible under the thick layer of dust covering it. 

“Wonder how long they’ve been here?” Dean says quietly. It’s hard not to feel the passage of time here, to be awed by this snapshot of history. 

“A couple hundred years at least.” Sam brings the light closer to the cracked urn, looking for more mundane clues to what it might have contained. “Whatever was in here before might have left residue, but I can’t really see anything--we’ll probably have better luck with the fragments.” He shrugs, dusting off his knees as he stands. “Of course there’s also a pretty good chance whatever it was left only microscopic traces. I’m interested to dig into that translation tonight and see if there’s any information.” When he looks over at Dean, his brother is smiling at him fondly. 

“Such a geek, Sammy,” he teases, and snaps a quick picture of Sam’s resulting bitchface with his phone. “Oooh a bitchface for the ages,” he says with a grin, and Sam bites back his own smile at the reassuring way Dean can find a way to lighten nearly any situation. 

It’s not til they’re on their way back out of the circle that the extent of Dean’s tension becomes clear, from the set of his shoulders to the clench of his jaw when he glances back to make sure Sam is following. Sam understands--he can hear it too, a whisper in the back of his mind calling to him longingly, desperately. The voice fades completely when they cross the final line of the circle and Sam realises just how tense he’d become too. 

“Ready to go,” Sam says with forced cheerfulness. He’s grateful that the trip back to the house is uneventful and that the whipping wind makes conversation impossible. 

It’s barely noon when they return to the ranch house. Cesar puts together a quick plate of sandwiches for everyone while Dean and Jesse lay out the larger pieces of the urn they’d brought back from the cave and Sam brings up the English translation of the Book of Tyr he’d scanned in the day before. 

“Look at this,” Jesse says, pointing to an intact symbol on one of the shards. “I recognize this--it’s the rune for safety, I think. Cesar, what do you think?” 

Cesar leans over to look, his meal forgotten as he nods. “And this one means protection,” he adds. He studies the shard carefully, moving another piece into place so that the edges line up. “I’m pretty sure this is part of a spell of protection,” he says after a few minutes. “It looks like it was designed to keep whatever was in the jar isolated and...static? Un-aging, asleep. It’s hard to be sure when the base languages are so different, but it seems like it the jars were supposed to be protected by some sort of magical stasis field that prevented what was inside from aging or dying.”

“I’m no expert on Nordic lore,” Dean says slowly. “But we all know lots of people brought the old ways and gods with them when they came over. What if those guys in the cave brought their gods with them, too?”

“You’re not far wrong, Dean,” Sam chimes in, his eyes moving over the screen at lightning speed. “Get this--that book isn’t just a copy of The Tyr Bible, it was also someone’s journal. They recorded their trip from Norway to the US, as well as why they came here.” He’s practically glowing with happiness over this new bit of history to explore, so beautiful that it’s causing Dean actual physical pain to keep his hands to himself. “From what I’m reading of the journal, the men and women who came here--four men and two women--brought six Andi with them, animal spirits who wanted to see a new land and make contact with the spirits of this place. All of them were already possessed--bonded, they call it, and--

“They called themselves ambassadors, supposedly,” Cesar interrupts, and Sam and Dean give him a surprised look as he sighs and rubs his face. “Supposedly they came to America from Norway seeking adventure and glory, and brought their animal spirit companions with them. Are you sure this is real? Because this sounds like the family legends and ahistorical nonsense that I stopped believing in when I was fifteen.” 

“If Sam says that’s what’s in the book, then that’s what’s in the book,” Dean says, a little sharply. He shifts his tone when Sam puts a calming hand on his arm. “But it sounds like you know more about what’s going on than you thought. Maybe you should tell us the rest of the story, since we all know that the truth can be a great big ball of crazy.”

Cesar settles back in his chair with another unhappy sigh. Jesse puts a comforting arm around his shoulders, and neither of them react when Sam does the same with Dean, both of them relaxing into the contact. “The men and women who came here considered themselves ambassadors. They heard the stories that the people here also worshipped animal spirits and they wanted to form an alliance, a new state. But there were too many differences to overcome. The gods of this land were wary and defensive, unwilling to accept the newcomers. They had already seen what happened to the other peoples who accepted the strange foreigners, and they refused to allow the Andar to seek compatible bondmates without deliberation. My ancestors were willing to wait, and a treaty was made that they could live here peacefully until the elders made their decision.” He shakes his head grimly. “We all know what happened next. But the bonded live long lives, and they saw the births of their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren here on this land before the gods, in their anger, turned them away again. Rather than leave entirely and give up the homes they’d made here, my ancestors created the cave and left the world. The unbonded Andi agreed to remain sealed away until the descendants of the original Norse settlers awakened them to become one with the inhabitants of this land.” 

Sam frowns. “So what you’re saying is that these animal spirits aren’t all bad? They’re just misunderstood?”

Cesar shrugs helplessly. “No one in my family knew why the bonded began to turn evil,” he says. “Just that it wasn’t always like that.” He nods toward the book. “My Amma, my grandmother, had an ancient, barely legible book that looked a lot like that one--it was one of her most treasured possessions, despite being incomplete. She believed that we were descendants of the bonded who came here, and that one day the Andar would awaken. She was adamant that this land pass to me or to one of my cousins. She always favored me, even though I eventually grew out of believing her stories.” 

“Why you and not your cousins?” Dean asks. “What made you special?”

“I need more whiskey for this,” Cesar says abruptly. He stands up and heads into the kitchen, coming back with four glasses and a bottle of Hunter’s Helper. 

“Tell them,” Jesse says encouragingly. “I know it’s hard, but they have to know.” Jesse accepts the glass Cesar hands him, swirls the amber liquid thoughtfully. “Cesar’s grandmother taught them about their history--how to read runes, that their ancestors had come here hundreds of years ago.” 

“When I was a kid I thought it was cool, we all did. There were family rituals, old legends--and my Amma believed it all and taught us to believe it as well.” Cesar says heavily. “Then Tomas, one of my cousins, was killed looking for what I now believe was the cave. I think it’s likely he was called by the Andar.” He drains his glass and pours another shot, downing that one as well. 

“Cesar’s father blamed their grandmother, but Cesar never knew why,” Jesse says, picking up the story. “After what happened with Tomas, he took Cesar and his mother back to his hometown, and they didn’t return until Cesar’s Amma died a few years later. Cesar’s father and uncle burned everything, all her papers and books and mementos .” He squeezes Cesar’s hand. “It was only recently that we found out that she’d left everything to Cesar anyway. Her estate had paid for minimal upkeep on the house and land since her death, but the caretaker was ready to retire. He contacted us and asked us to take over.”

Cesar stares into his glass. “We were told it was just an accident,” Cesar says. “I never realized there might be a connection until we found the cave.” 

“And realized when you felt the magic that there was more to what happened than you ever knew,” Sam says quietly. He shivers, remembering the feel of it pouring over him suffocatingly thick and heavy. 

“Even when we felt the magic--nowhere near as strongly as you two do--we weren’t sure there was anything wrong,” Jesse says seriously. “But we started trying to decipher the book, and then these murders started up…” 

“You think someone else found the cave first and was possessed?” Dean asks, brow drawn. “Berserkers are a bitch to take down. Do you have any reason to think it’s that other than the cave and the weirdness of the killings?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Not really. Just a feeling. And…”

Sam can’t keep quiet any longer. “And the dreams.”

Jesse and Cesar exchange a look. “You too?” Cesar asks, and closes his eyes when Sam and Dean nod. “I had them all the time when I was a kid,” he admits wistfully. “We all did, or said we did. I think that was part of the reason my grandmother thought I was chosen. For me it was always a ram, with huge horns and an echoing voice--I never felt safer than when I was with him.” He looks at Jesse again, hesitating. “Part of the reason we wanted to finish the wards so quickly is that I've started having the dreams again, even before the landslide, and now Jesse is having them as well. We thought it was just the power of suggestion, and maybe something residual from the land, but it seems clear now that it’s more.”

“An eagle,” Jesse says, a faraway look in his eyes. “When we’re dreaming, I can see forever. They want us to join them.” 

“You can’t do that.” Dean’s voice is low and urgent. “Jesse. Cesar. You can’t give into this. It’s too dangerous.” 

Jesse looks startled for a moment. “Oh, I know,” he says quickly. “It’s just such a different point of view, I guess.” He smiles at his husband as Cesar squeezes his hand. 

“I know you noticed the drawing in the hallway,” Cesar says. “It’s...well, it’s kind of like a safe room. We can’t hear them in there. Sometimes we just need a break.”

“Then what about the room out back?” Dean asks, a hint of skepticism in his voice. “I was scouting out good locations for your wards and it looks like you’re ready to go Shawshank on someone.” 

“It’s just a precaution,” Jesse assures him. “In case…”

“In case one of us gives in. We could go there before the spirit bleed got too bad, and wait for help--you two or other hunters, if necessary--to do what had to be done.” Cesar sounds grim, deadly serious, and Sam can’t imagine how much it must cost him to say those words about his husband. “And now, with these killings, there’s a chance we might need someplace secure to hold whatever poor soul might have been possessed.” 

“Jesus.” Dean leans back with a sharp exhale. “Have you thought about just leaving?” he asks bluntly. “It sounds a whole lot like you’re risking your lives and your sanity by staying here.” 

“Everything we have is here,” Cesar says, spreading his hands wide. “And...we both feel like we have an obligation to see this through, especially since these killings. If there’s even a chance that the person doing it has been possessed then we have to find him and stop him before he hurts anyone else.”

Silence settles over the table as Sam and Dean take in the new information, Dean’s suspicions looming larger in both their minds.

"These dreams," Sam says carefully. "You think they're being sent to you from Andi who want to bond with you?"

"Yes." Jesse and Cesar speak.together. 

"They've said as much, and I believe them,” Cesar says honestly. “They want human hosts. They feel...more complete. Whole. It’s hard to doubt that kind of sincerity.” 

“And the odds of us being compatible with two Andi who are here and want to bond with humans...It’s almost like it’s meant to be. Not that we’re going to give in,” Jesse adds quickly. “But it’s just one of those things.”

Sam speaks up first. “This is a lot to take in,” he admits. “But there’s still one thing that’s bothering me.”

“Just one?” Cesar and Jesse both laugh a little, breaking the tension behind Jesse’s admission.

“Well…” Sam smiles in return. “Just one for now. As far as we--” Sam nods toward Dean--”as far as we and every other hunter we know is aware, there’s got to be a ritual involved for the possession to take place. A blood sacrifice in a circle of Nordic runes--that’s not your standard every day download off the internet type spell. And it’s sure not something you do by accident. So what makes you think this person could be possessed?”

“It’s just too much of a coincidence,” Cesar admits. “The landslide, the urns breaking, and now mutilated dead bodies starting to pile up? It just feels like we need to be prepared.” 

“A hunt, then,” Dean says, feeling a stir of anticipation. “Maybe we can go take a look at where the body was discovered, get some fresh eyes on the situation while Sam finishes with the journal.” He glances over at his brother, questioning. 

“Sounds good to me,” Sam says agreeably. “Just be careful out there. If this really is a berserker, he can kill you just as easily in the daytime as at night, and if he’s too far gone he might not recognize the difference.”

“Yes, dear,” Dean teases, and without letting himself think he presses a quick kiss to Sam’s temple before standing up. Sam freezes in shock but neither Jesse nor Cesar react, and after a quick second Sam relaxes too. “Who's leading the way?”

“I'll go," Jesse says quickly. "Cesar knows the legends and the runes better than I do, so let’s divide and conquer.” Jesse stands up as well, smiling warmly at Cesar and squeezing his shoulder. “The sooner we get started on this the sooner we can finish and get back to our lives, which Cesar and I appreciate more than we can say.” He hesitates. “I hope you know we didn’t mean to mislead you. We genuinely thought that this was just...some sort of echo, maybe, combined with some sort of sensitivity brought on by spending so many years around magic and the supernatural. We really thought putting up wards would solve the problem.” 

“We don’t think that at all,” Sam says sincerely. “And we don’t mind helping. It’s far from the first time that something small has turned out to be bigger than anyone ever imagined.” He turns his laptop toward Cesar and pulls up the translation software, already engrossed in finding out everything they can about the book and what it means for Cesar and Jesse. 

Dean stops Jesse when they step out of the kitchen. “Do you still have a piece?” he asks bluntly. “If not, Sam and I have one you can borrow, but we can’t take the chance of going out there unarmed.” 

“We still have our weapons,” Jesse confirms. “And I agree, we can’t take chances here. If we _are_ going up against a forced bonding we’re going to need every advantage we can get. I’ll meet you out by the car in ten, okay?”

Dean heads out to the Impala, popping her trunk and contemplating his options. A pistol gets tucked in his waistband, a shotgun in the crook of his elbow. He breaks the shotgun and feeds in shells, shoving a few more into his pockets for good measure, then grabs a sling to hold it securely across his back. He slams the trunk shut and gives his best girl a pat as Jesse comes out the door armed with a rifle. Dean catches the keys Jesse tosses his way on reflex. 

“Let’s take both bikes,” he calls. “Just in case we need to come back separately.” 

Dean grins. “No objection from me,” he says cheerfully. “I’ve been dying to try one of these babies.” 

The drive takes half an hour, give or take. Dean follows Jesse’s advice on riding _Don’t go too fast, lean into curves, keep your weight centered. You’ll do fine._ and it works like a charm. Once he gets the hang of it enough to begin watching his surroundings, he realizes that they probably aren’t that far from the cave. 

“Hey,” he says once they’ve arrived and removed their helmets. “How far are we from the cave? Am I right in thinking it’s not too far in that direction?” He waves vaguely westward.

“Not far at all,” Jesse confirms. “Maybe a half mile. If something _was_ set free by that cave-in, it didn’t go far before finding a victim.”

Dean studies the patch of ground currently cordoned off by increasingly tattered crime scene tape. There’s a small outcropping of rock upthrust from the rocky soil and a couple of thin bushes struggling in the meagre shade, and what could be the remnants of a campfire. 

Jesse watches him take in the scene. “The sheriff wasn’t sure what he was doing out here,” he says, kneeling to sift through the charred wood in the small rock circle. “He built a fire, but if he was camping he left his gear elsewhere.”

“Or the killer took it with him,” Dean points out. There’s blood on the rocks, nearly cleaned away by the elements but still visible to someone searching. Dean takes a closer look, thinking there might be occult symbols or something--anything--to tell them if this is their kind of case. 

Jesse shakes his head. “Doesn’t seem likely. Nothing left behind at all except the body, which still had keys, wallet, and clothes. And no holes for tent spikes, no sign--wait.” Jesse holds up a stick that turns out to be a small bit of bone. “Something small,” he says, and cocks his head like he’s listening. “A rabbit or a rat, maybe. I’m no expert.” 

“Could have been cooking, but that’s pretty weird--who comes out to the middle of nowhere with no camping gear to cook a rabbit? You said he had a wallet and car keys so probably not itinerant.” Dean starts casting a wider circle, looking for anything that might have been missed, but doesn’t find anything but a few more spatters of blood on the rock. “There’s nothing here,” he says finally, mildly frustrated. “Where was the body found?”

Jesse points out a spot a few yards from the fire ring. “Over here. At the time, the vegetation such as it is was flattened and bloody. He was lying on his back, arms outflung. Defensive wounds on his hands and arms in addition to the claw and bite marks on his throat and torso. Cause of death was exsanguination from having his throat torn out.” 

“Anything interesting in his background?”

“Not that we’ve found. He had an out of state license, which makes it even more unusual that he’d be out here without any sort of equipment. If the sheriff’s department found his car or where he was staying, they haven’t mentioned it yet.” He stares at the fire circle again in bemusement. “There’s something off here, but I can’t figure out what it is.” 

Dean comes back around the outcropping to kneel next to him, eyeing the carefully placed stones curiously. He picks one up, turns it over in his hands, and stops. “Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “Look.” Dean puts the rock back in position carefully, but upside down--so that the rune painted on the underside is clearly visible. “And look at my hands. No ash or charcoal on my hands or the rock--on any of the rocks. Magical fire of some kind?” 

“We need to get pictures,” Jesse says excitedly. He turns the rock back over, trying to place it exactly as it was. “I want to take these with us and recreate the circle back at the house where Sam and Cesar can see it. Four heads are better than two, right?” 

“Right,” Dean agrees. He starts taking pictures, trying to get every angle, then waits for Jesse to measure the dimensions. When those are recorded, they carefully turn the rocks over and photograph them from the other side. “That should do it. But…” He looks around speculatively. “This is too small to be the whole circle, I think. There’s got to be a bigger ring. And now that we know how it’s being hidden…” They spread out, looking for signs. It’s not long before Jesse finds the first stone, and then the second. After that it’s a matter of pacing between them and photographing each one. In the end there are twelve fist sized stones, placed three feet apart in a rough circle, each also marked with runes, as well as a dozen smaller stones from the campfire circle. Dean takes pictures of each one then looks at Jesse quizzically. “So...how do we get all of these back to your place?”

Jesse shakes his head. “We can’t. We can’t leave this circle up, though, we have no idea what it’s here for. How about we pile them into a cairn and come back for them later?” 

“Good idea.” Dean helps Jesse stack the stones into two separate piles near the base of the outcropping. “Hopefully no one comes along and screws with them before we have a chance to get back.” 

“Before we head back to the ranch, we should check out where the body Cesar and I were called in on yesterday was discovered,” Jesse suggests. “It's not too far from here.” 

“Wait, isn’t that an active crime scene?” Dean frowns. “I don’t know that I’m up to meeting groupies today.” _Or any day,_ he thinks privately. “There’s also the fact that Sam and I are fugitives and if this is the second body with human bite marks to drop on your property, the Feds are going to start poking around here soon.” 

“True.” Jesse hesitates, thinking. “Still, I think it would be helpful if we got a look at things while everything is still fresh. I’ll talk to the sheriff, see if we can get permission to examine the site this evening--we can compare notes then all head back out here.”

“That sounds better. We can bring Sam and Cesar back here and show them the rocks as well--no need to bring them back to the ranch if they can see them on site.” 

As they’re walking back to the bikes, Dean speaks up again. “How about we go back up to the cave?” he suggests. “I wouldn’t mind having another look around. There’s a lot to take in up there.” 

Jesse hesitates, and Dean can _feel_ how much he doesn’t want to go there. He’s about to prod him into action when both their phones ring. They both check, eyes meeting worriedly when they see that it’s Sam and Cesar. 

“Sammy, what’s going on? Were your ears burning?” Dean steps away from Jesse, but hears him asking the same things. 

“I’m fine,” Sam assures him. “We both called in case reception was bad or we couldn’t get through. Cesar says that happens out here sometimes. Find anything interesting?” 

“Yeah, we did. Turns out the first human chew toy might have been trying to cast some sort of ritual after all. Jesse wanted to check the new site, but I convinced him we should wait til tonight when there’s less likely to be cops around. The last thing we need is some over-enthusiastic deputy getting his panties in a bunch and calling us in.” Dean keeps his voice low, watching Jesse as he speaks. 

“We’ve made some progress with the Tyr Bible,” Sam says enthusiastically. “The details about the journey Cesar’s ancestors made is just incredible, and it really goes in-depth about the history of the Andar.” 

“Does it say anything about who or what might be chowing down on humans out here?” Dean asks. “Or...anything else we were wondering about?”

Sam’s voice drops. “It might,” he says softly. “I really think you should come back and see this, Dean. It changes everything we know about berserkers and animal spirits.”

“Alright, we were going to head up to the cave and go over it again, but I think Jesse would just as soon head back. He seemed a little antsy about going up there. How’s Cesar?” 

“He knows more than he’s saying,” Sam says bluntly. “I deliberately misread a couple of runes and he corrected me right away. He also got another call from the sheriff that seemed to put him on edge.”

Dean goes still. “Are you safe, Sam?” he asks, voice deadly quiet. Sam hadn’t used any of their safe words, but who knows what might be happening? “Tell me the truth, Sam.”

“I’m fine.” There’s no fear in Sam’s voice, he sounds firm and confident, but there’s no way Dean is going to relax until he sees for himself. “I promise, Dean. There’s nothing going on other than the usual tension of working a case, particularly so close to home. We can talk more when you get back.”

Jesse’s smile seems a little strained after Dean ends his call. “Everything alright on your end?” Dean asks as he buckles on his helmet. “Sam seemed pretty excited about what they’d found.” 

“Yeah, Cesar was pretty excited too.” Jesse’s smile eases a bit. “I think Sam might have awoken a newfound love of research in him. Or maybe just a renewed love of hunting.”

Dean claps a reassuring hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” he says firmly. “You two look pretty happy together, and you’ve got a sweet setup here at the ranch. I don’t think digging through ghoul guts can compete with that.” 

Jesse laughs ruefully. “I don’t think either of us miss that. And to tell the truth I think most of Cesar’s enthusiasm comes from learning about his family history. After his cousin died, everyone turned away from learning more, and it means a lot to him to be regaining that connection. We really appreciate you and Sam helping us out with that.”

Dean makes himself comfortable on the motorbike, thinking again that he really needs to get one of the motorcycles in the bunker up and running. “That’s what friends are for, right?” The words feel strange given the lives he and Sam lead, but they feel true as well and Dean’s not sure he likes it. Too many people he and Sam call friends end up dead, and Dean’s not ready for that again. 

If Jesse responds, his words are lost in the roar of Dean’s bike, and Dean’s pretty sure that’s for the best. 

When they pull up back at the ranch, Dean’s surprised to see Sam and Cesar outside digging around in the hedges rather than working on the case. 

“What’s going on?” Dean asks, wandering over once the bikes are stowed. 

“Just clearing our heads a little,” Sam says, smiling. He stands up, dusting thick soil off his hands. “It’s a beautiful day, and we decided to take a quick break and check along the foundation for good spots to add wards.” 

From the corner of his eye Dean sees Jesse give Cesar a quick kiss before pulling him aside, and decides he’s got the right idea. About talking to Sam privately, not the kiss, though God knows he’d love that to. He settles for planting himself on the porch stairs and patting the worn wood for Sam to join him. 

“So get this--” Sam says excitedly, dropping down next to Dean. “You know how we’ve always thought that berserkers were created by humans forcing animal spirits to bond with them? Turns out that’s not exactly the way it works.” 

“Come again?” Dean knows he sounds skeptical, but what Sam’s saying contradicts everything they know about berserkers and the animal spirits that possess them. 

“Originally the ritual was just a summoning ritual,” Sam explains. “The human doing the summoning would wait, sometimes for days, for a compatible spirit, and the bonding was always by mutual agreement. But at some point, the ritual changed. The journal mentions a great war between heaven and hell--both the angels and the demons came to the Andar for help, but they refused to take sides. Unsurprisingly the demons didn’t take that well, and began slaughtering the Andar. They would wait for a human to start the ritual, then ambush and kill the spirit when it arrived.” Sam’s voice turns grim. “The journal tells the story of a village wiped out by one of those ambushes. After killing the Andar who arrived for the joining, the demons possessed the human and used his body to murder everyone else in the village. Their story was part of the impetus for the journey Cesar’s ancestors made--they hoped to find a land where the Andar could live in peace.”

“Okay but what about the bloodlust and murderous rages that we always see in berserkers?” Dean asks, confused. “This all sounds like the ancients calling up these spirits thought it was a _good_ thing.” 

“After the demons started attacking, the ritual changed,” Sam says. “It wasn’t possible to wait for days for a compatible spirit. Humans changed the ritual to compel whatever Andar was nearest to come to them, and forced a bonding even when the spirit wasn’t compatible. The incompatible bondings eventually drive both human and Andar insane, and the result is what we see now.”

“So what you’re saying--and what Cesar must have been hinting at that first night--is that originally becoming a berserker wasn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Dean says slowly. “On the other hand, this book is their bible, so a lot of it could be propaganda. Is there anything else to back this idea up?” 

“Not really.” Sam shrugs. “The old ritual, the original version that allowed complete bondings, is virtually unknown. Very few if any even know it exists. All anyone has ever heard of is the corrupted version.” 

“But I’m guessing that Cesar and his family grew up with legends and myths about the real berserkers,” Dean says thoughtfully. “Sam, what if Cesar is trying to perform the ritual? What if he’s the one who set up the circle where the first body was discovered?”

“Circle? Like a summoning circle?” Sam’s alarm mirrors Dean’s now. “Did you and Jesse find something at the murder site?”

“It was well hidden, but we found two concentric circles,” Dean confirms. “They were marked by rocks with runes drawn on the underside. The outer circle was set up with twelve stones three feet apart, the inner circle was much smaller and seemed meant to contain the fire. There were small bones mixed in with the charred wood--Jesse thought maybe a rabbit or rat.” Dean gets out his phone and pulls up the pictures he’d taken, shifting closer so that Sam can look over his shoulder. 

“I can’t tell if those are from the ritual or not,” Sam says in frustration. “I’m just not familiar enough with the language. The book has a diagram, though. We should definitely check.”

“What do we need to check?” Cesar asks, startling both brothers out of their focus. “Maybe I can take a look.”

“Probably the rock circle Dean and I found,” Jesse says. “We should go back to that site and bring the stones back here after Sheriff Carlson takes us through the fresh site. They were definitely not random.”

Sam and Dean stand, following Jesse and Cesar back inside. 

“We’re going to wash up,” Sam says quickly. “And I think I’ll catch Dean up on what we learned, Cesar. It’s a lot to take in.”

“Yeah, I want to give Jesse a rundown too,” Cesar agrees. “We’re also going to get in touch with Sheriff Carlson--I’m sure she’ll be thrilled at the idea of giving us a guided tour.” He laughs when Dean winces at the thought. 

“Just make sure she understands the part about hunting not exactly being on the up and up,” he cautions. “Sam and I are supposed to be dead, and we’d really like it to stay that way.”

“Just pull out an old ID and she’ll be happy to look the other way,” Jesse assures him. “We’ll let you know when she’s ready to meet us.”

Neither Sam nor Dean gives the symbol on the door to Jesse’s studio a second look as they pass by, too engrossed in their thoughts and suspicions. When they get to their room, Sam sets up his laptop while Dean changes, pulling up the scanned in book and the translation side by side. Dean settles onto the bed next to him and opens the pictures on his phone as they look for similarities. It doesn’t take long after Sam pages forward to the rough drawings of the summoning circle, and it’s not hard to match up the individual runes. But the circle Dean found was incomplete--the second drawing shows a third circle surrounding the other two. 

“So it looks like whoever was trying to summon an Andar didn’t have the full ritual,” Sam says thoughtfully.

“Or I didn’t find it all,” Dean contradicts. 

“I think if it was there you would have found it once you knew what you were looking for,” Sam says firmly. “Which leaves us with the question of who would have had a partial copy of this ritual. It’s almost completely unknown.”

“We know who, Sam,” Dean says quietly. 

Sam stares down at the screen, the same anger and grief that Dean feels evident on his face and in the tense set of his shoulders. “I don’t want to believe that,” he says, and Dean’s heart clenches because he’s begging for reassurance that Dean can’t give. 

“It’s him or Jesse,” Dean points out. “They’re the only two that make sense right now, and Cesar is the only one we know has had access to this exact material. He said his grandmother’s copy was incomplete...his dad burned it when he was a teenager. Who knows what he remembers accurately? Who knows why his dad really burned it?” Dean turns to Sam, pulls him close. “We won’t do anything until we’re sure,” he promises. “But these things are too deadly for me to risk your life on mercy, Sam. For anyone. Not right now.” 

Sam wraps himself around Dean, shoulders shaking with grief. But there’s no telltale wetness on Dean’s shoulder, and he thinks dully that neither of them have any tears left at this point. 

After a few minutes Sam sits back. “There’s got to be another answer,” he says with conviction. “We’re not going to lose more friends.”

“Sam…”

“I mean it,” Sam says firmly. “Let’s go find out when we’re meeting the sheriff. I want to see these stone circles you found, and take another look at the circle in the cave. There’s something there…”

Jesse and Cesar are in the kitchen, looking through the pictures from the cave again. Jesse looks up and calls Sam over. “Look at this,” he says, pointing to his phone. “This is what Dean and I found when we went to the first murder site. And now look at this circle in the cave.”

“They’re the same! I knew there was something I was missing,” Sam says excitedly, and opens the Tyr Bible to the pages that show the diagram of the summoning circle. “Now look at this. The drawing in the cave has the full diagram. But it looks like the circle at the murder site doesn’t. The question is why.”

“Whoever it was must have had an incomplete version. Either it’s more accessible via the web than we realized, or there are more copies of this--” Jesse pats the book--”out there than we realized. _My_ question is why here?” 

“You said there are local legends about the Norse settling in this area,” Dean points out. “There’s even a tourist trap in the next town over. Someone must have put two and two together and come up with the square root of one. So _my_ question is, who or what killed them?”

“And how do we stop them from doing it again,” Sam adds. 

“What if there were two of them? Or more?” Jesse asks. “We’ve been assuming there were no survivors, but what if there was more than one person at each site?” 

“So, two buddies decide they want to be berserkers and come out to the middle of nowhere for the ritual,” Dean says, laying it out. “They build the circle, kill the rabbit and drink it’s blood, spout the mumbo jumbo...and it works, for one of them. Who then turns on his partner and kills him in a murderous rage?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Jesse says reluctantly. “That would leave the second victim as most likely wrong place, wrong time. It would also mean we need to find the person who managed the bonding as soon as possible before they kill again.” 

“We can always ask the Andi in the cave,” Cesar says unexpectedly. He’s been mostly quiet since Sam and Dean came back out, and his suggestion startles everyone. 

“Too risky,” Dean says immediately. “We don’t know anything about these creatures except that bonding with them drives people insane. And that’s there actually _are_ Andi in the cave. We don’t even know that for sure.” 

“They’ve been contacting us regularly since we got here,” Sam says thoughtfully. “One of them is some kind of cat, a panther or cougar I think. And I know one of them has spoken to you, Dean. I don’t know what they want, but they seem to want it very badly.” 

“It’s a wolf,” Dean says shortly. “And I think it’s pretty clear what they want. They want _us_. Jesse and Cesar said they’ve been pressuring them to bond since they got here, since even before the landslide and the discovery of the cave.” He shudders. “I don’t want to talk to these things,” he says flatly. “I’m not sharing my body with some furball.”

“I’m not either,” Sam assures him. “The last thing I want is something else in my body, and I know you understand that.” He reaches out for Dean tentatively, mildly shocked when Dean doesn’t pull away but glad to feel Dean’s hand under his warm and steady. “But if it has to be done then it has to be done.” Sam turns back to Cesar. “I’m guessing you don’t want to leave this up to chance. Do you have a plan?”

“Dreamroot,” Cesar says. “We go up to the cave and settle in, Jesse and I take the root and the two of you keep watch.” 

“Maybe we should split up,” Sam suggests with a sidelong look at Dean. “You and I go in, Dean and Jesse keep watch.” 

“No way,” Dean says immediately. “I’ll go. We don’t know what these things are capable of, Sam!” 

“The alternative is leaving me by myself to fight a berserker,” Sam reminds him. 

“Excuse us just a minute,” Dean says to Jesse and Cesar. “Sam?”

Sam smiles apologetically at their hosts and follows Dean into the living room. 

“Dean--”

“Listen to me, Sammy,” Dean says firmly. “I’m doing this. And no, I’m not doing it to protect you, at least not the way you think. We don’t know what contacting these things directly might do. What if this animal spirit is able to force you to bond with it? It’s too dangerous, Sam. I’m doing it.” 

“Dean, there’s no safety in this job. You know that. I’m the best person to go in for exactly the reasons you don’t want me to.” Sam knows Dean means well, he _knows_ Dean just wants to protect him, but--

“I don’t want you to go in because you’ve been through enough!” Dean hisses, visibly trying not to shout. “Specifically, you’ve been through _this_ enough. I haven’t forgotten what I put you through with--with Gadreel, Sammy. I haven’t. I don’t regret it, I’d do it again in a second to save your life if there was no other way. But there _is_ a way this time.”

Sam closes his eyes and breathes deep, hating that the wounds they inflict on each other are the ones that never seem to heal.

“Dean, I forgave you for that a long time ago,” he says softly. “But you know that I have a better chance of controlling what happens in the dream than you do--we’ve seen it. And there is no one in this world that I trust to guard me more than you.” 

“We don’t even know if you’re going to _need_ guarding on the outside,” Dean says in frustration. “We don’t know if there’s a crazed berserker running around, or if he or she knows about the cave or if they’ll go there--why risk yourself like this for what could be nothing?”

“Because it might _not_ be nothing,” Sam says implacably. “Because the danger inside is likely to be worse than the danger outside.” He takes Dean’s face in his hands, turning Dean’s eyes up to his before kissing him gently. “Don’t you think I’d do the same for you? Don’t you think I want to protect you from going through what I have, that I’d do _anything_ , including tying your ass up and leaving you on our bed until I get back, to keep you from knowing what that feels like?”

That gets the smile Sam was hoping for, shaky as it is. “Kinky,” Dean jokes weakly, just like Sam knew he would. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” he demands. “I mean it. Promise me you’ll wake the fuck up at the first sign that _anything_ is wrong.”

“I promise I’ll be as safe as I can. You can’t ask me for more than that, Dean. Not when two people are dead and there might be more.” 

Dean rests his forehead against Sam’s, eyes closed as he breathes him in. “I know,” he says unhappily. “I taught you that, after all. But I don’t have to like it.”

“Come on, let’s get back so we can start planning. It’s going to be a long night.” 

When Sam and Dean return to the kitchen, only Jesse is sitting at the table. He’s reading the translation of the Tyr Bible and making notes, seemingly engrossed, but he looks up immediately when Sam pulls out a chair. 

“Cesar went to go whip up a batch of dreamroot,” he says at Dean’s questioning look. “Did you decide who’s going under?”

“I am,” Sam says. “Dean will help keep watch.” 

“I don’t think there will be any trouble,” Jesse says seriously. “We don’t know for sure that there’s a berserker on the loose. But just in case we’ll both have weapons and we’ll do what we can to keep everyone safe.” 

“We know weapons aren’t going to be of any use,” Dean says bluntly. “They’re faster than us, stronger than us, and their regeneration puts a werewolf or vampire to shame. What kind of weapons are going to help us out against that?”

“Cesar and I have been experimenting with ways to block out the Andar voices,” Jesse explains. “The drawing on the door to my studio works very well, and Cesar tweaked the runes on the shed out back to weaken any bonded kept in the room and prevent it from escaping. I’m trying to come up with ways now to boost the signal for Sam and Cesar, and weaken it for you and me.”

“That sounds...good,” Dean says begrudgingly. “Best idea we’ve got so far anyway.” He brightens. “What about bullets with that symbol on them? Provided we can actually hit the thing, that might keep it from accessing all of the animal spirit’s power, right?”

“It just might at that…” Jesse says thoughtfully. 

“It would need to be a low caliber round,” Sam adds. “Something that will stay in the body. Remember how we dealt with Abaddon?” 

Dean grimaces. “Jesus, don’t remind me. What a clusterfuck that was in the end.” 

“That’s a pretty complicated design to put on a bullet, especially on such short notice,” Sam says. “Is there a way to simplify it and still get the same effect? Is there time to even try?”

“We’ve got to try,” Jesse says simply. “I don’t want to risk Cesar’s life any more than you want to risk Dean’s. When Cesar comes back we can go over it with him--he knows more about runelore than I do.”

“I’m going to go check out the arsenal,” Dean says, standing abruptly. “See what I can improvise. It might be that we don’t have to kill the thing at all--fire will slow down just about anything.” 

Sam winces. “Let’s not get out the flamethrowers just yet,” he cautions. “There’s not a lot of room in that cave, and Cesar and I won’t be moving around on our own.”

“Don’t kill the mood, Sammy,” Dean says breezily, ruffling Sam’s hair on his way out, but Sam knows Dean is no happier now than he was before, even with the possibility of fire in his future.

“I’m going to log back into some of the databases the Men of Letters left behind,” Sam decides. “It’s possible--likely, even--that they know more about this than we do, and may have more insight into killing or containing these creatures.” 

“Sure,” Jesse says distractedly. He has his own laptop open, along with a sketchpad, and his hand is flying over the page as he plays with various designs. Sam decides to move to the living room to give him a little more peace and quiet.

Sam’s searches turn up...not a lot. Which isn’t all that surprising given that berserkers are rare at best. There’s some evidence that Dean’s fire idea isn’t far off base--it seems that anything that inflicts enough damage can slow it down enough for more drastic measures to be enacted. Decapitation seems to work pretty well as far as killing them goes, and there’s evidence that their regeneration is fueled by their body’s natural resources, ie food and sleep. That should make it possible to starve one into some sort of torpor if not to death, but Sam isn’t willing to even consider that idea. There’s a whole section on runelore that turns out to be a lot more promising, and by the time Dean brings him a burger and a beer Sam’s surprised to find that hours have passed. 

“Hey,” he says, taking the plate Dean offers. “Sorry for getting distracted--what happened to going out to the crime scene and up to the cave?” 

Dean shakes his head. “Not enough prep time. Our hosts aren’t as used to winging it as we are.” He grins around a mouthful of fried meat and bread as Sam wrinkles his nose. “Probably not a bad thing, when you think about it.”

“The sheriff was okay with it?” 

“Guess so,” Dean says, shrugging. “Cesar came back after a bit, said they’d talked. We’re going to put some things together, come up with a solid plan that isn’t cobbled together by the seat of our pants. Whatcha got for us?”

“Well, it looks like your love of fire might be useful after all, you pyro,” Sam says affectionately. “If we can do enough damage fast enough, we can drain their reserves. It won’t kill them, but it runs them down and makes them more vulnerable until they can refuel with food and sleep.” 

“That sounds doable,” Dean says thoughtfully. “Not really keen on charbroiling a person again, though. Anything on ways to mark weapons, runes or sigils we can put on bullets or blades? Anything that can weaken them?”

“Jesse and Cesar were headed in the right directions with what they’ve already worked out, I think,” Sam says cautiously. “Obviously Cesar knows more about this than I do, given his history and the knowledge he’s already shown, but I think that working together we can cut the design down to something manageable.” 

“But untested,” Dean says, not waiting for Sam’s confirming nod before continuing. “And so our best bet is still to hope that the evidence so far is wrong and there’s no berserker yet.” 

“You know...this was supposed to be a vacation.” Sam can’t help sounding a bit wistful. 

“Yeah, well...we should have known better.” Dean bumps Sam’s shoulder with his own. “It’s not all bad. New lore for you to pick through, a new language to learn, a new monster to document. And hey, you’ve got a book Bobby would have given his eye teeth for.” 

They finish eating in silence, the only sound the clicking of Sam’s laptop keys as he scrolls through page after page of protective wards and sigils. Jesse and Cesar join them after a while, bringing Jesse’s sketches and a plan. Eventually they call it a night, satisfied that they’ve done everything they can with the resources they have. 

Dean’s already in bed when Sam comes out of the bathroom in a pair of ancient sweats, the t-shirt he’d worn all day tossed in the corner with the rest of their growing laundry pile. 

“I can’t believe you’re going to strip in a Viking burial cave,” he says as Sam’s slipping under the cool sheets. 

“I can’t believe you found a way to get me naked in a Viking burial cave,” Sam retorts, laughing at Dean’s disgruntled expression. “The things you get me into…”

“Hey, no one’s getting _naked_ ,” Dean protests. “And the only one drawing on these nice firm abs is _me_. Just so we’re clear.” 

“You sure about that?” Sam asks, and Dean swears he can _hear_ Sam’s dimple peeking out. “Jesse’s the artist, after all.”

“ _Mine_ ,” Dean mock-growls, and pushes Sam back into the mattress. “From the moment you were born, Sammy. From the minute Dad put you in my arms.” He kisses Sam long and slow and sweet. “Mine.” 

“Yours,” Sam whispers, and arches against him with a sigh. Dean groans softly, Sam’s thigh pressing against his hardening dick just right. They make out like teenagers, Dean’s hand sliding into Sam’s sweats to stroke him slow and firm, Sam’s fingers pushing against Dean’s hole as Dean rocks slick and hot against his thigh. Dean comes first when Sam pushes into him, just one finger dry and shocky and so good because it’s _Sam_. Sam moans, flips them over and thrusts into the loose tunnel of Dean’s hand until he paints Dean’s chest white and sticky. They fall asleep like that, Sam’s head on Dean’s shoulder, Dean’s clean hand in Sam’s hair, and if either of them dream that night they don’t remember.

Sam wakes up to Dean’s hand gently shaking his shoulder. He doesn’t feel as sticky and gross as he should, which means Dean must have cleaned them both up at some point after Sam fell asleep. He _does_ feel incredibly well rested, despite the worries that a hunt this dangerous usually brings with it, and he’s frankly amazed that Dean is awake and active before him.

“Rise and shine, Sammy,” Dean says cheerfully. “We’re getting an early start today--checking out the second crime scene with the sheriff--” he makes a face, leaving Sam with no doubts as to his thoughts on fangirls in uniform--”and then up to the cave to go over the details one more time before showtime.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, slightly dazzled by Dean’s smile so early in the morning. “Yeah, just let me get cleaned up and dressed.” The sound of Dean humming to himself as he checks over their weapons follows him into the bathroom, an almost surreal counterpoint to the grim odds of the upcoming fight, but Sam can’t help smiling anyway. Dean’s happiness has always been contagious, and Sam has never built up any sort of immunity. 

Despite Dean’s claims of an early start, breakfast is more of an extended planning session. Jesse shows them the modified amplifying and damping sigils they’d cobbled together, handing Dean a template to trace onto Sam’s chest when the time comes for him and Cesar to take the dreamroot. 

“The idea is that this sigil will allow them to hear and interact with the Andi in their dreams more clearly and with more control,” Jesse explains. “We took what Cesar and I were already using and basically reversed it, then added some of Sam’s suggestions to hopefully strengthen the effect.” He points to the other sheet. “This is a simplification of the binding sigil we put together in hopes of containing anyone possessed by an Andar. We don’t know if either version will work, but if we can scratch it on a few bullets, it might give us an edge.”

Neither Sam nor Dean respond immediately, Sam studying the signs and Dean seemingly at a loss for words. Finally he speaks up.

“Well, we’ve made things work on a wing and a prayer before,” Dean says, shrugging. “And that’s what we’ll have to do this time as well.” He takes the template of the sigil that will go on Sam’s chest. “What do I use to paint this on? Anything special?”

“”I’ve got some brushes that can be blessed,” Jesse says seriously. “And we also have a supply of fresh herbs that can be used to enhance psychic properties and protections that can be crushed fine and added to non-toxic paint. I’d been gathering them to use in our wards, but I can always get more.”

“What kind of herbs?” Sam says, interested. “Frankincense and peppermint oils for clarity, I’m guessing, and probably vervain for protection?”

“And sage for purification, though the intent was to burn that in the area I was mixing the paint. Probably not a bad idea for tonight,” he says thoughtfully, just as Cesar’s phone rings. He glances at the number and stands, nodding toward the hall. 

“That’s probably the sheriff,” Jesse tells the brothers. “She said she’d call when she could get the site cleared for us. I’m going to finish mixing the paint and see about casting a few bullets while you three meet up with Sheriff Carlton, then meet you up there when you’re done.”

“Provided everything goes according to plan,” Dean adds. “Right now our biggest hope is that whoever killed those two men is a garden variety psycho we can leave to the civilians.” 

Rather than take the bikes, Sam and Dean drive the Impala with Cesar as far as they can before hiking the rest of the way in. Dean claims it’s so they can bring back the marked stones and carry more weapons with them, but Sam’s pretty sure he just wants an excuse to drive his car after a few days of leaving her in the driveway. Cesar doesn’t seem to mind, directing them to the ghost of a road that takes them a little out of their way but brings them within a reasonable distance of the first site. Dean walks them through where they’d found the stones and how they were set up, and try as they might they don’t find another ring of stones or any other indication of a third circle. 

“So if someone _did_ use this circle to call an Andar, they were definitely using the corrupted ritual,” Sam says. “You know, it’s altogether possible that the ritual failed and the victims were just high on psychotropic drugs of some sort. One or both might have believed they’d become an animal regardless of whether or not an Andar actually appeared.” 

“True,” Cesar says thoughtfully. He looks at the stones again, particularly the ones used to make the fire circle. “But I get the feeling _something_ happened here. It’s clear that there was a fire here, but none of the stones are charred or have any residue on them. That feels like magical fire of some sort to me.” 

“Fair point.” Sam picks up a few of the rocks, then takes off his overshirt and uses it as a makeshift bag to hold a few more. He grins to himself at Dean’s scowl, hiding his smile when Dean immediately does the same and hefts the rest of the rocks. 

“I’ve got another shirt for you in the car,” he says meaningfully, eyeing Sam’s exposed biceps as they flex and stretch the thin material of his t-shirt. “No need--”

“I don’t think you need to worry about Cesar ogling my arms, Dean,” Sam whispers, fighting back outright laughter. “He’s already on the phone with Jesse.” 

“And what about the sheriff,” Dean hisses under his breath. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what happened the _last_ time we ran into a fangirl--”

Dean closes the Impala’s trunk with a little more force than necessary, then immediately pats the shiny black metal in apology. “Sorry, Baby,” he mutters, and looks up to see Cesar watching him in amusement. 

“I don’t think you need to worry about Sheriff Carlton,” he says dryly. “She’s happily married with two grandkids. And I think we might have given you the wrong idea about her. She’s enthusiastic, but it mostly stems from years of working here in the desert and seeing too many things she couldn’t explain. Now that she knows she’s not crazy, she’s eager to do what she can to protect herself and her people. I think you’ll like her if you give her a chance.”

“Please tell me she hasn’t read the books,” Dean says plaintively. “Those things are the bane of our collective existence.” 

Cesar laughs. “I'm definitely not sorry they ended before Jesse and I made our appearance in your lives. If Chris hasn’t read them, I’m sure her daughter has and likely told her all about you. By the way, what names are you going to use? I’d recommend Smith and Wesson--she’ll know immediately who you are, but she’ll also have some deniability if anyone else figures it out.” 

“That should work.” Sam pulls their battered ID box out of the glove compartment and sorts through them all until he finds the right cards. “Here we go.” Dean catches his with a slight scowl--he’d never entirely forgiven the angelic horde for that particular prank. Mostly, Sam suspects, because they didn’t get to have sex in his office or keep the suspenders. 

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Dean says, sighing. It’s weird having someone they suspect in the back seat, a prickling awareness of danger nudging his animal brain even though Sam is holding onto the hope that they have nothing to worry about. It’s a relief when Dean breaks the uncomfortable silence. 

“Anything useful from Jesse?” he asks, glancing at Cesar in the mirror. 

“Yeah, actually,” Cesar tells them, sounding both pleased and relieved himself. “The paint is all mixed and ready to go, and he’s prepping some rounds of a few different calibers. We should be good to go whenever we’re ready.”

Dean nods thoughtfully. “Good idea.” Not too far off Sam can see a black SUV parked near a line of police tape, and Dean angles the Impala to pull up a short distance away. A tall figure strides confidently around the front of the truck and resolves itself into an older woman, probably in her late fifties. She greets Cesar as he emerges from the Impala. 

“Cesar! Good to see you again,” she says warmly, holding out her hand for a firm shake. “These the other hunters you told me about?”

“Sam Wesson and Dean Smith,” Cesar confirms. The woman takes in the sleek black car and eyes Sam and Dean knowingly, sizing them up. 

“Really,” she says dryly. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam and Dean. I’m Sheriff Clarkson, but please call me Chris. Cesar tells me you found something of interest at the first crime scene.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean says meekly. “We found some stones laid out in two circles with runes painted on the undersides. They match up with a certain extent with a summoning ritual designed to call an animal spirit to the caster and bind the human and the animal together.”

“Hmm. Interesting. That might explain the bite marks, though that could just as easily be drugs as actual magic. I don’t recall seeing any foreign substances in either of the tox reports, but I’ll double check.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

“Call me Chris,” she says again. “Or Sheriff, if it will make you feel better. Now. What are we looking for?”

Dean opens the Impala’s trunk and offers Chris two of the fist-sized rocks they’d taken from the other crime scene. 

“I’m going to pretend like I don’t know you destroyed evidence at a crime scene--this time,” she says in warning. “But next time, _call me_ first.” The last words are clearly directed at Cesar, who looks slightly abashed. It’s Sam who tells her about the circle and how it was laid out, filling her in on the ritual while Dean and Cesar spread out and start looking for another circle. 

“Part of the ritual is an animal sacrifice,” Sam says, feeling a little apologetic even though he knows she’s probably seen worse. “As near as we can tell, they have to drink at least some of the blood.”

Chris looks a little green at that, but nods grimly. “I’ll have forensics check for that too,” she says. “I hate calling those two for every little thing. But until I know enough to keep my people safe on my own it’s good to have a couple of experts around to consult.” She looks appraisingly at Sam. “I know their story; what’s yours?” 

“Raised in the family business,” Sam says vaguely, knowing she’s probably already figured out who he and Dean are. “Parents, grandparents, cousins...we’ve been doing this for ages. It’s in our blood.” At her odd look, he corrects himself quickly. “That’s my story, anyway. Dean--”

“It’s okay,” she says, patting Sam’s arm with a hint of affection. “I know who you are. I just wanted to see how good you are at lying.” She gives him a hard look. “And now that I know you suck at it, I want to know what else is going on that none of you are telling me. Cesar is a hunter, I’ve got bodies dropping barely fifty feet from his property line, and now you’re telling me it’s got something to do with all these old legends and rumors and myths about his family?” 

“I--uh--” Sam’s brain stalls out as he tries to come up with a story she might believe that won’t give away anything Cesar might not want known. “You know, I--”

“Hey, Sammy! You gonna help out or just stand around flirting all day?” Sam’s sure Dean thinks he’s being subtle, but his brother wouldn’t know _subtle_ if it kicked his ass--and Sam’s grateful for his interruption anyway, regardless of his motives. 

“You might better step back a bit, I wouldn’t want your _brother_ to blow a gasket,” Sheriff Carlton says slyly as she hands him a business card. “Don’t tell him I’m happily married with two grandkids, I’m enjoying the ego boost.”

Sam can’t help laughing, both at the Sheriff’s good humor and Dean’s ridiculousness.

“But back to business,” the sheriff says more seriously. “What is it you three think is going on here?”

Sam takes a deep breath, reminding himself that despite the uniform this woman is an ally and deserves the truth, or at least what he knows of it that won’t compromise his friend’s personal history. “We think that someone is summoning or trying to summon animal spirits and then bond those spirits to their souls. Unfortunately, there’s a very high chance that the bond will be incomplete or corrupt, and drive the human host insane. We’ve seen a lot of horrifying things done by these hybrid creatures, and these two murders are very much in line with what can happen.” He hesitates, unsure if he should mention the cave. “And we think there might be a connection between Cesar’s family and the specific animal spirits being summoned.” 

The sheer disbelief on Sheriff Carlton’s face makes Sam regret his candor, but it’s too late to back out now. He’s wondering if he should call Cesar to come smooth things over when she shakes her head with a sigh. 

“My head tells me I should run you in right now for drug testing and suspicion of murder,” she says bluntly. “But my gut...well, I’ve spent my whole life trying not to see what’s right in front of me, and Jesse and Cesar have been patient with helping me figure out what I needed to know now that my eyes are open. What can I do to help?”

“You’re doing it.” Dean materializes at Sam’s shoulder, dusty and mildly put out. “We didn’t find a circle here, but that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear yet. Any info you can get us on the victims will help us figure it out.”

“Sam here was telling me you think there might be something called a berserker in the area? A human/animal hybrid of some kind?” 

“That’s about the size of it,” Dean says, nodding. “If we’re right, the animal spirit will overwhelm the human soul it’s bonded to and they’ll both go insane.”

“Or it could be a straight up human who read too much Norse mythology in school and found part of a ritual on the internet,” Sam adds. “There are plenty of drugs that can make someone _think_ all of this is happening. But our luck isn’t usually that good.”

“You call that good?” Sheriff Carlson doesn’t sound happy about Sam’s summary of the situation. 

“Given that berserkers are faster and stronger than humans with regeneration that puts your average movie werewolf to shame? Yeah. A human frying his brain with the latest fashion drug is a lot better,” Dean says levelly. “You can kill a human. You can catch a human and put him away. If this really is a berserker, a lot more people are going to get hurt before we kill it.”

“This is a lot to take in,” Sheriff Carlson says, shoulders slumping a bit. “And I’m not used to standing on the sidelines. I take it you have a plan to catch this thing?”

“We’re going to try and communicate with a different animal spirit,” Cesar says, joining the conversation for the first time. “We aren’t sure it will work, but we have reason to believe they aren’t all evil, and we hope to get more info about what we’re dealing with.” He puts his hand on Sheriff Carlton’s shoulder. “The best thing you can do for us, Chris, is let us handle it. And maybe keep an ambulance in reserve in case we need it.” 

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed that we all have a peaceful night,” Sheriff Carlson says. “And I’ll put a rush on that labwork you wanted.” She shakes her head. “I never thought I’d be _hoping_ for some kind of new drug.” 

“Why don’t I show you where we went and what we were looking for?” Cesar offers. “Just in case anyone has questions about what your ‘consultants’ were doing out here.” He leads the way back into the actual crime scene, pointing out the areas he and Dean had cleared of branches or sand while looking for more painted stones or runes carved into the ground. 

While they search, Sam fills Dean in on what he’d told the sheriff. 

“And...uh...I don’t think she buys that we’re really brothers,” he says, trying not to laugh. “She seemed to think you were jealous of her.”

“Can’t blame her for that,” Dean says, smirking a little though he doesn’t take his eyes off the sheriff and Cesar. “You know, Cesar’s grandmother thought he was chosen. And he would have had access to all kinds of books and information. I wonder if the killer could be someone he knows? Someone he shared information with? He did say they used the runes to tease the other kids. Maybe one of them lost it somewhere down the line--drugs, mental illness...it could have been anything.”

“Even worse, it might be someone who has already completed the ritual and be corrupted,” Sam says reluctantly. “We have to be prepared for anything.” 

“Which is all the more reason for us to do this tonight,” Dean says. “It’s a long shot that the Andar will actually tell us what’s going on or how to kill one of their own, but at this point anything we can get out of them will help. I just hope it’s enough.”

After Cesar and Sheriff Carlton finish walking the site together, they return to where Sam and Dean are waiting. 

“Sam, Dean--it’s been a pleasure meeting you,” Sheriff Carlson says, shaking their hands. “I wish it could have been under more pleasant circumstances. I’m going to take Cesar back into town with me to go over some of the things we’ve found and talk to my officers who are also in the know about the possibility of meeting one of these ‘berserkers’. Be careful out there.”

“I’ll call Jesse and have him come into town in a bit to pick me up,” Cesar adds. “We need to do a supply run anyway, and this will give you two some time to figure out who is doing what tonight.”

“Lucky me,” Sam murmurs under his breath, but he’s smiling. He and Dean have already hashed things out but that doesn’t mean it’s over--Dean may well give it another go and Sam knows very well how _persuasive_ his brother can be. 

Cesar snorts but doesn’t say anything else, just follows the sheriff back to her truck. 

*******************************

Jesse’s already gone by the time Sam and Dean get back to the ranch. Sam’s phone chimes as they’re pulling up, a quick message from Jesse letting them know that the spare key is under the doormat. 

“Guess there’s not much to worry about out here,” Dean says as they let themselves in. “You want a beer?”

Sam just nods as he sorts through the notes Jesse had left for them. “Looks like he managed to get a start on etching a few bullets, which he left out back, and put together a purification ritual that might help amplify the properties of the paint.” 

“Sounds like he had a busy morning,” Dean comments, taking a long pull from his bottle. “Let’s go take a look.”

The bullets are lined up on a small table on the back porch, gleaming in the sun. Dean picks one up, rolling the shiny cylinder between his fingers and admiring the symbol carved into the otherwise smooth body. “Nice job.” 

Sam takes the bullet from Dean’s fingers, looking it over as Dean pulls his gun out of his waistband and pops the magazine. “Jesse chose well,” he says as Dean replaces the bullets currently in the clip with Jesse’s. “I think one clip each should do the trick. If we need more than that we’re hosed anyway.”

“No kidding.” Dean snaps the magazine back home then stands, restless. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Sam,” he says, pacing. “There’s got to be some way to kill these things that doesn’t involve going back to that cave or you letting one of them into your head.” 

“He’s already been in my head,” Sam reminds him, and Dean scowls. “I’m not all that thrilled about it either, but--” He pauses, trying to find the words to get through to his brother. “After reading the Tyr Bible, I’m not sure they’re evil, Dean. At least not all of them. I think...I think if it’s a choice--my choice--it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

Dean whips around to stare at him incredulously. “Tell me you don’t really think that,” he demands. “I know they don’t _seem_ evil, but how often have we come across that, Sam? How many evil sons of bitches have tried to get to us by giving us what we want? Or think we want?” He steps closer, hand on Sam’s cheek tilting his face up. “Promise me,” he says quietly. “Promise me, Sam. Promise me you won’t--” 

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean,” Sam promises. “I don’t want one of these things bonded to me. I don’t. I just think...maybe we shouldn’t judge anyone who does too harshly.”

Dean closes his eyes, visibly trying to calm himself. He drops back into his chair and drains his beer in one long swallow as Sam peels the label off his own bottle, the silence stretching heavy and fraught between them. Finally Dean reaches over to tug Sam’s hair.

“Now what’s going on in that big brain of yours?” Dean asks. 

“Just thinking about that purification ritual Jesse mentioned,” Sam says, shrugging. He bats Dean’s hand away absently, long fingers scritching away at the damp paper. “I figure it can’t hurt, right?”

“Hey.” This time Dean doesn’t stop pulling til Sam looks up at him. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of,” he says softly, just like he has a hundred times before and probably will a hundred times again. “No more than I do, anyway. Come to think of it, a nice long hot bath with some smelly herbs and lots of chanting sounds...well, it sounds awful, but with the right company I think I can be persuaded.” 

Sam graces him with a small smile, the one that says he appreciates the effort but he knows damn well Dean is full of shit, then grins at him with a glint in his eyes.

“We should do it before they get back, then,” he says, standing abruptly, and Dean is still kinda worried about what’s going to happen but Sam unbuttoning his shirt right out in the open pushes every other thought right out of his head. 

“Dude!” 

“It probably works better out in the open,” Sam says, fingers still moving. He’s working on his jeans now, completely straight faced, the fucker, and even though the nearest neighbor is a mile away Dean grabs Sam’s hand and yanks him inside and down the hallway toward their room. There’s a cloth bundle on the counter containing the same herbs Jesse had added to the paint, and it doesn’t take the small tub long to fill with hot water, fragrant steam rising to swirl lazily through the room. 

“There’s no way we’re both fitting in there,” Dean says in disappointment as Sam tries to get comfortable.

“I barely fit in here,” Sam agrees, splashing at the water. His knees are practically under his chin, a sight Dean definitely does not find endearing in any way. At all. 

“We’re so getting a better tub when we get our own place,” Dean grumbles, scooping up water to pour over Sam’s hair. “Look down.” 

Sam obeys, damp tendrils curling around his face and hiding his expression as Dean rinses him thoroughly. Dean can hear him whispering softly but can’t make out the words, probably whatever spell or incantation that’s supposed to rid him of impurities that, as far as Dean’s concerned, don’t exist. Dean picks up the shampoo next, smelly fru-fru shit that Dean does not begrudge Sam in the slightest because he loves how soft and silky Sam’s hair always feels afterwards--not that he’d ever tell Sam that. No more than he’d tell Sam that he uses it whenever Sam’s gone to remind him of how Sam smells. 

“You just did, dumbass,” Sam says fondly, smiling as he tips his head back so that Dean can rinse the lather away. “And there’s nothing in here that compels the truth, so you played yourself.”

“I figured you already knew anyway,” Dean admits, shrugging. He leans forward to kiss Sam. “And since you’re smiling again, it was worth it.” 

In the end they have to turn on the shower to wash all the soap away, and Dean’s more than happy to strip down and join Sam under the warm water. They tie the herb bundle under the showerhead, scented water sluicing down over both of them as Dean kisses Sam again, fingers curling around Sam’s hips to pull him closer with a soft, pleased sound. Sam wraps one huge hand around them both, pushing lazily in counterpoint to the slow thrust of Dean’s hips and it’s perfect, one shining, radiant moment of purity that seems to resonate between them forever before Sam finally lets them go with a sigh. 

“Wow,” Dean says hazily. “What the hell did you two put in this stuff?” 

Sam just laughs, sounding a little dazed himself. “It was just a standard ritual,” he says. “Calling on God to purify and bless the supplicant and wash away any guilt and regrets.”

“I don’t know if _pure_ is quite right, but I sure feel _good_ ,” Dean says, leering a bit as he towels his hair dry before digging out his last pair of clean boxers and jeans. 

“Yeah, me too,” Sam says, and the surprise in his voice is enough to raise Dean’s eyebrows. “Not that I don’t usually after...you know...but this time I actually feel not just good but _good_.”

“That’s because you are, Sammy,” Dean says, kissing him soundly. “You really ought to listen to me more often, I’m telling you.”

“Whatever,” Sam says, shoving him back with a smile. “Just because you’re the oldest…”

“Being the oldest comes with certain prerogatives,” Dean boasts. “And being right is one of them. You ought to know that by now, Sammy.”

Sam’s dimples peek out as he dresses, melting Dean’s heart and his brain just a little. “I had an idea,” he says in that casual way that tells Dean he’s going to throw all of their carefully laid plans into a blender. 

“I think Cesar and I should take the dreamroot here instead of up in the cave.” 

“Oookay.” Dean isn’t entirely opposed, but again, plans.

“I think it would be safer,” Sam continues when Dean doesn’t interrupt. “Think about it. We’re on more familiar ground. We’ve got better lines of sight. We can lay down an unbroken protective circle, we won’t have to worry about destroying anything in the cave if something goes wrong. And if the berserker _does_ show up, we can try and force it into the building Cesar built to restrict its power.” 

Dean nods thoughtfully. “Those are all pretty good points. But weren’t we going to the cave to try and get better communication? We’re all but sure that the jars up there contain Andar, right? And closer is better.”

“They’ve already proven they can communicate with us pretty well down here,” Sam says with a shrug. “We’ve got Jesse’s paint and purification ritual to ground us and amplify our receptiveness. I think the pros outweigh the cons here.”

“We’re only going to get one shot at this,” Dean counters. “But I’m willing to give it a try if you think if you think it will work. Let’s wait til we hear back from the others, though. I don’t want to mess things up without their say-so.” 

“Ahh, the best part,” Sam says, his dimples peeking out again. “We’ve got that tarp in the Impala’s trunk--the one that has a devil’s trap painted on one side and Enochian banishing sigils on the other.” He grins. “I knew that thing would come in handy again. We can lay it out right in front of the trap and weigh down the corners to keep it grounded. Protection and line of sight--can’t ask for more than that.”

“All right,” Dean says slowly. “All right.” He looks up at Sam, suddenly serious. “Then let’s do it now.” 

“What?” It takes a moment for Dean’s words to register. “Dean, we need to wait for backup. There’s no reason to rush this.”

“Call it a hunch,” Dean says calmly. “We’re not doing anything that would summon a berserker, so there’s no reason to think one will show up, right? So no need to wait for backup.”

“Okay, but--” Sam feels trapped in Dean’s logic. He knows his brother is suspicious of Cesar in particular, but it doesn’t feel right to go ahead with this alone. 

“Something’s not right here, Sam,” Dean says, sensing Sam’s hesitation. “We both feel it. We know intuition is your brain’s way of showing you things you haven’t figured out yet, and this isn’t a one time deal. You can still go under with Cesar when they get back if we don’t get what we need.” 

“All right,” Sam concedes. Everything they need is in the kitchen--the dreamroot, the paint, and the design that they’d worked out to amplify Sam and Cesar’s receptiveness. Sam carries it all outside to where Dean is spreading the tarp and an old blanket on a smoothish patch of ground. Their weapons duffle is nearby, Dean's favorite shotgun poking from the open mouth like a long tongue. “Smells just as awful as last time,” he says, grimacing. Dean takes the tea and paint so that Sam can strip off his shirt before sitting cross legged in the middle of the tarp. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dean sits next to Sam and dips his fingers in the paint, biting his lip in concentration as the symbol takes shape on Sam’s chest. The paint is cool against his skin but the sensation quickly fades, leaving Sam energized and refreshed. 

“I have to say, Jesse really knows his herb lore and spellwork,” he says thoughtfully. “Both the paint and the purification ritual really seem to work.”

“Or it’s a placebo effect,” Dean says, shrugging. “Hard to say when we need it to work this badly.”

He wipes his fingers on the blanket and picks up the thermos of dreamroot tea, his nose wrinkling at the horrible smell. “Bottoms up.”

The tea tastes as terrible as it always does, and Sam feels himself falling. Dean catches him, steadies him, and it’s so natural that it takes a moment for the surprise to kick in. 

::Dean?:: Sam looks around, confused. They’re standing in an open field with the Impala a few yards away and a blanket lying on the ground. The green cooler from the trunk is next to it, and when Sam looks up the sky is blue and cloudless.

::I thought you might prefer the form of your mate:: a familiar voice says, almost shy. ::Humans sometimes fear my natural form:: 

The Andar, Sam realizes with surprise. He’d expected to feel...violated. Invaded. He knows what possession feels like, remembers all too well the sickening realization of Lucifer stealing the faces of those he loves to torment him in his dreams, and he’d expected these moments to feel the same. But he just feels like _Sam_. 

::I’d rather see you:: Sam says, testing. He can probably force the creature before him to take it’ true shape, but he wants to see how it will react to a simple request. ::We shouldn’t start with lies::

A shimmer of light and Dean is gone, replaced by a sleek feline form made of light and shadow, a cougar whose shoulder is level with Sam’s waist. Sam feels a moment of regret when the field and its memories disappear, replaced by the tarp in Jesse and Cesar’s back yard where Sam knows his body is lying in Dean’s arms, but it’s overwhelmed with relief that the Andar will do as he asks.

::I know that I am a guest here, Sam:: the cougar says politely. He sits, tail curled around his legs, almost but not quite within touching distance. ::I do not wish to harm you or cause you distress.::

::Why _are_ you here?:: Sam asks, curiosity getting the better of him. ::You know what I want, don’t you?::

::I know what you want:: the cougar agrees, and the voice is sad. ::You seek a way to destroy my kind once they have bonded.::

::I’m sorry:: Sam says guiltily. ::But we believe the bond is corrupt, and your kin is killing humans::

::We know:: the cougar says, and the anguish in the voice hurts Sam’s heart. ::This has happened once before, to our sister. It is why we sleep now. But you have nothing to fear from us now, Sam. I promise you this.::

::I’m sorry:: Sam says again. ::But we need your help to protect ourselves in case you’re wrong. Please.::

::It is very difficult for your kind to harm us:: the cougar says gravely. ::The deathless dark can do it. And we can harm each other.:: 

Understanding comes in an instant, and Sam bows his head. 

::Tell me what I have to do.::

::Nothing.::

Sam’s head jerks up at the unexpected answer. ::What do you mean? There’s nothing we can do?::

Rather than answer, the cougar stands, pushing his head against Sam’s chest. Sam is surprised that he can feel the touch, warm and solid, like a living cat. 

::I _am_ a living cat:: The cougar sounds both amused and disappointed. ::But as I already suspected, we cannot be bound to one another. The best we could hope for is to share your skin while never truly joining.:: He hesitates. ::That would be...unsatisfactory for both of us, but it is the only way because your soul is already complete; there is no room for another.::

::Dean.:: He doesn’t try to hide the relief he feels, or his happiness at the cougar’s words. 

::Your mate:: the cougar agrees. ::We believed this to be true, but it is good to be sure. There are ways...but I do not believe that is what you seek.::

::So what do we do?:: Sam asks, his relief fading into hopelessness.

::Sit down, and I will show you who we are and why you are really here.::

Dean eases Sam down onto the blanket-covered tarp carefully, trying not to think of terms like _dead weight_. Sam's chest is still rising and falling, his pulse is still beating slow and steady even as his eyes move restlessly behind their lids. Given the choice, Dean would watch him the whole time, but he has other responsibilities to attend. He focuses his attention to the surrounding area, alert to any changes and movement and listening for the sound of an approaching motor. He’s not sure where the sudden impulse came from to do this _now_ , without either of the other two men involved, but he’s learned to trust his instincts over the years and right now they’re screaming at him that something just isn’t right. That feeling is even more heightened now, since Sam went under--he feels hyper-alert and calm at the same time, every sound and movement catching his eye and dismissed almost before they register. _Drugged,_ he thinks distantly, but it feels unimportant right now, a distraction from what needs to be done. He waits, feeling tendrils of his consciousness drift out further and farther afield, looking for something to latch onto.

It's been forever and no time at all when a faint rumble hits the edge of his awareness. A car, headed this way. Dean stands, gun in hand, senses snapped back into place as he waits. It's only a few minutes before Jesse and Cesar pull onto the driveway and climb out of their SUV, and as soon as he sees them Dean understands what his instincts were trying to tell him before. 

Shadows, overlying each of them, like the carvings on the burial slabs in the cave. An eagle, sharp and observant, restless as it searches for danger or prey. And a ram, solid and focused and just as dangerous. 

"I was right," he says, voice strangely calm in his own ears. His gun is up even though he doesn't remember raising it, covering both as best he can.

"Dean--" Cesar steps forward and Dean swings toward him, ignoring the placating tone of his voice.

"Don't." Jesse’s hand on Cesar’s arm, holding him back, his voice strange and somehow sharp. “He can see us.”

“Just let us explain,” Cesar asks again, but Dean just shakes his head. 

“In,” he growls, gesturing toward the shed. “ _Now_.”

They move, stiffly and reluctantly, and Dean doesn’t relax until they’re inside the building, leaving the door open so he can watch them. _Now,_ he thinks, sitting next to Sam’s sleeping body, _we wait._

It doesn’t take long before Jesse and Cesar lose their patience. Dean can see them talking but he doesn’t try to stop them--he doesn’t want the situation to escalate while Sam is unconscious. As they wait, the shadows hovering over them slowly fade away, but Dean isn’t going to forget what he saw. 

“Dean, I know this seems bad. But if you would just let us explain--” Jesse is the first to speak up again. He sounds as frustrated and angry as Dean feels, but Dean doesn’t care. There’s very little holding him back from testing out the Andar killing bullets Jesse made, and nearly all of that is doubt that Jesse had actually made something that would harm himself. 

“You lied to us,” Dean says, breathing deep. “You brought us here under false pretenses, for reasons we don’t know yet, but you can bet we’re going to find out. Right now, my brother is over there fighting for his life--”

“Well, that’s a bit overdramatic,” Sam says dryly. “I was just sleeping.”

“Sam!” Dean wants to look around and see for himself how his brother is doing more than anything, but he doesn’t dare take his eyes off the two berserkers even for a moment. “Listen, just stay there--”

“Dean, it’s alright,” Sam says gently. “They aren’t going to hurt us.”

“Sam, you don’t understand,” Dean snaps. “They’re not who they’re pretending to be.” Dean tries not to sound as bitter as he feels. “The hunters we thought we knew are dead and gone.”

Jesse and Cesar both flinch at Dean’s words, but neither of them deny what he’s said. 

“I took the dreamroot and spoke to the Andar to get information, Dean,” Sam points out. “Don’t you want to know what I found out?”

Dean shakes his head. “I saw them, Sam,” he says quietly. “I saw the things possessing them. They’re gone now, but I know what I saw.”

“Probably the results of the paint and the purification ritual,” Sam says thoughtfully. “But Dean, think about everything we’ve learned about the Andar so far. Think about what we know about Jesse and Cesar. They could have killed us at any time if that was their plan, but it’s not. They need our help.”

Dean hesitates. Every instinct he has us screaming at him to shoot first and ask questions later. He's seen Cesar move, knows how dangerous berserkers are rumored to be. But this is Sam, asking for his trust.

Lowering his gun with two enemies standing in front of him threatening Sam is one of the hardest things Dean has done recently, but he does it. 

The tension in the room drops instantly, Cesar and Jesse both letting out shaky breaths. "I hope you know what you're doing, Sam," he mutters, staring daggers at the two men before him. Next to him Sam sighs. 

"I'm going to sit down," Sam says. He moves toward the warded shed, stepping in front of Dean and coming entirely too close to the berserkers for Dean’s liking. 

"Wait." 

Sam pauses, questioning, and Dean pushes forward to stand between Sam and the two men standing in the doorway. He swears he can _hear_ Sam's eyes roll behind him, and he's sure his back is being treated to an epic bitch face, but that's fine. A whole, breathing, _alive_ Sam can bitch to his heart's content later. 

There are two chairs in the room, and Sam takes one. He's not tired, exactly, but a little shell shocked by what he's learned. And not exactly looking forward to his brother's reaction to what's coming next.

Jesse and Cesar sit on the narrow cot set against the wall, looking uncomfortable and ill at ease. From the inside this building is even more clearly intended as a prison, with protection symbols on the walls and ceiling and a circular channel--for salt, Sam thinks--carved into the bare concrete floor. Dean hovers behind him, no doubt glowering like some sort of pissed off avenging angel. 

Sam understands. Dean has every right to be angry over the way things have played out. But he knows his brother, and he knows Dean will come around when he hears what Jesse and Cesar have to say. 

“Where do you want to start?” Cesar asks, breaking the awkward silence. He’s still watching Dean warily as he paces back and forth behind Sam. 

“Start with your tattoo,” Sam suggests, and Cesar looks startled. “The cougar told me,” Sam says, shrugging. “And I think it’s important to establish right off that none of this was intentional.”

“It was a long time ago,” Cesar begins. “I told you my father took me and my mother and left after my cousin Tomas was killed. But before he did, my Amma insisted that I get a protection tattoo. It was an old family tradition that had fallen out of favor--my father didn’t have one, and neither did my uncle or his children. That was what caused the break between them--he refused to allow it and she did it anyway.” He shrugs wryly. “I was a teenager who thought getting a tattoo would be cool; I didn’t think it really meant anything.” 

“Let me guess, it’s supposed to protect you from the Andar?” Dean sounds skeptical, despite him and Sam having their own protection tattoos. “So what went wrong?”

“The tattoos are supposed to prevent an Andar from fully bonding with one of us,” Cesar explains. “It’s like...saran wrapping your soul, I guess. Even if an Andar possesses one of us, the bonding can’t be completed as long as that layer is in place.” He hesitates, seemingly unsure how to continue. “The tradition started several generations ago after one of my ancestors--according to family legend--went insane after bonding with an Andar who was not well-suited to her. She killed dozens of people before she was defeated. That was when our role as guardians changed and became less about protecting them and more about protecting us.”

Sam nods. “The cougar told me a slightly different version. It seems that originally, your ancestors were the vessels that held the Andar until they could find suitable hosts. It was a way of hiding and protecting them from the demons that hunt them because of their great war. This woman’s tattoo was damaged somehow, and the bond between them became permanent even though they were not compatible. The urns in the caves are all that remains of the Andar that originally crossed the sea and settled here with your ancestors.”

Cesar leans forward, clearly fascinated by this alternate look at his own history. “So rather than being human vessels, we locked the Andar away in the cave. For our protection and theirs.” 

“They agreed to go,” Sam affirms. “The remaining Andar were as horrified by what happened as your ancestors were. They taught the guardians what needed to be done and guided them in creating the caves. Then they voluntarily left their hosts and went into the urns to sleep until someone wakes them up.”

“So who woke them up?” Dean asks skeptically. He’s marginally less tense, Sam can feel it. Cesar’s words have a ring of truth that can’t be denied no matter how much Dean might want to. 

“No one,” Jesse says, shrugging. “There was a minor earthquake and two of the urns were damaged. When the seals broke…”

“Alright.” Dean stops pacing and sits down, gun no longer visible to everyone’s relief. “So through no fault of your own, the Andar are free.” He frowns. “Was this before or after you started dreaming about them? Or was that a lie?” 

“The earthquake was after,” Jesse says quietly. “The dreams began as soon as we got here, and eventually Cesar told me that he’d always had them when visiting here--he was used to it, but the dreams were pretty disturbing for me.”

“The night after the earthquake, the dreams were especially intense,” Cesar picks up. “And the next day, I felt an urge to head in the direction of the cave. It seemed natural at the time--but in retrospect it seems obvious that I was influenced.”

“Right now I’m not hearing anything that makes me trust these things,” Dean interrupts. “They come into your dreams, mess with your minds, take over your bodies even without a ritual--unless you’re going to tell me that they convinced you to strip naked, eat a live rabbit, and howl at the moon, too?”

“Dean--”

“No, it’s alright, Sam,” Cesar says quickly. “I understand this sounds bad. But please. Just let me finish. While at the cave and afterwards, I was in more direct contact with the Andar spirits. They explained that they needed my help, and that my tattoo would protect me from accidentally bonding with one of them. I talked to Jesse and he agreed to help as well once he was protected by his own tattoo. This was all voluntary, we _wanted_ to help.”

“One of the things they explained to us is that the original ritual was both a summons and a means of opening the spirit,” Jesse continues. “Once the Andar arrives, if both parties are willing, the joining can take place. The reason berserkers now go mad is that the corrupted ritual forces a binding whether the Andar is willing or not. In this case the Andar were already at the cave, so no ritual was needed. We thought we would be safe.”

“But now one of you is eating the locals, so obviously that’s not true,” Dean interjects, smiling humorlessly. “What, did you think I’d just forget about that part? What happened, did the tattoos not work or did you just decide you’d rather be an animal?”

Jesse looks stung by Dean’s harsh words, but Cesar holds him back with a hand on his arm. 

“That wasn’t us,” Cesar says firmly. “Sam can verify, from the Tyr Bible and his conversation with the cougar, that there was a war between the Andar and demons--they hate each other. Those people were killed by a demon looking for the cave--they can sense a summoning or sometimes even the presence of an Andar.” He smiles darkly. “He won’t be bothering anyone again. Turns out the Andar don’t need weapons to kill a demon--we can simply rip them apart with our hands.”

“That’s useful,” Dean mutters, but Sam can tell he heard Cesar’s _we_ loud and clear. “So you want to help these things,” he continues. “What does that have to do with me and Sam? Why did you need to get us here and then lie to us?” 

“Because there are more than just two Andar who need shelter,” Jesse says softly. “And we hoped--”

There’s no more conversation after that, at least nothing civil. Dean’s gun is up and pointed faster than even the Andar expected, and he’s dragging Sam by the arm toward the door before anyone else can even move. 

“No fucking way,” he snarls when Jesse tries to stand, tries to follow. “Sit your furry ass back down or so help me God I will kill you where you stand. You’re not getting your hands on my brother, or on me.” The door slams closed, the solid frame shaking with Dean’s fury as he rams the padlock home. “This fucking thing better hold,” he growls, and Sam doesn’t look back as he follows Dean into the house. 

Sam doesn’t try to resist, doesn’t try to plead the case for the Andar--he knows it’s pointless right now. He lets Dean rant and mourn, throwing their belongings into their duffle bags and pacing furiously back and forth across the small bedroom until he finally snaps. 

“Well?” he demands, turning to Sam. “I know you’ve got something to say here, Sam, so spit it out.”

“I think we should do it,” Sam says simply and Dean goes white, collapsing on the bed like a puppet with cut strings. 

“Sammy?” he whispers. “You _want_ to become one of these things? After everything we’ve done to stay together, you want--” 

“I want to do the right thing,” Sam says firmly. He sits next to Dean, tugging his face around until Sam can kiss him gently. “Just because these things aren’t human doesn’t make them evil. Besides...it will only be temporary, Dean. They can’t bond with us, we’re protected.”

“Like Jesse and Cesar were protected?” Dean asks bitterly. “Sam, these tattoos clearly don’t work. How can I trust them with your life?”

“You shouldn’t,” Sam tells him, much to Dean’s surprise. “I don’t need a tattoo to be safe from the Andar, because I have you.”

“I can’t protect you from one of these things if you let it in, Sam,” Dean says in frustration. “That’s the whole point!”

“You already do,” Sam says again, smiling this time. “One of the things the cougar told me is that the Andar can’t bond with us because we’re soulmates. Our souls are already complete--there’s no room for anyone else.” Sam kisses Dean again, pulls back to look at him beseechingly. “We can do this, Dean. We can help save these beings, we can help our friends. This is a win for us.”

Dean doesn’t speak for a long moment, lips pressed tight as he tries to pull his thoughts together. “I’m afraid,” he finally confesses. “I’ve seen what these things do to people when something goes wrong. I’ve seen how much it hurt you when--Lucifer, Gadreel, Meg. I don’t know if I can put you back together again, Sam. I don’t know what I might do if this thing is lying to you and--”

It’s Sam’s turn to stand, pace restlessly. “I won’t do it if you truly don’t want me to,” he says at last. “But Dean--I think this is the right thing to do. I trust the Andar I spoke to in my dreams, and I believe him when he says we’ll be safe.” He stops in front of Dean, puts his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “I respect you, I trust you. I’m asking you to do the same for me.” 

Dean slumps against Sam, arms coming up to pull him close. “I do, Sammy,” he says, voice muffled and tired. 

Sam holds Dean, strokes the short bristles of his hair. He knows how hard it is for Dean to let Sam lead, not because he doesn’t trust Sam but because he doesn’t trust himself to keep Sam safe if he’s not in front. 

Finally Dean sits up, and if his eyes are brighter than usual, Sam pretends not to notice. “I guess we ought to go let Jesse and Cesar out of the shed,” he says a little sheepishly. 

Luckily their hosts are more understanding than Dean might have been in their situation. The four men gather in the kitchen after Dean unlocks the makeshift prison, a pall of silence and mistrust hanging over them all. 

It’s Dean who finally speaks up. “I’m not sorry,” he says abruptly. “It’s my job to keep Sam safe--to keep us both safe. You lied to us about some pretty important things, and that’s not easy to overlook.”

“We didn’t start off with the intent to lie to you,” Cesar says regretfully. “We called on you and Sam because we felt that we could trust you to listen to us rather than judge outright. We know that a lot of other hunters would have just killed us for what we’ve done.” He looks over at Jesse. “But this mess with the demon--we didn’t expect that. We decided to prioritize taking it out ourselves over communication with you, and well...we ended up locked in our own shed for our troubles.” He shrugs, laughing a little. “We all did what we felt we had to do, so I’d say no apologies needed.” 

Dean holds out his hand. "Truce?" 

Cesar shakes his hand firmly. "Truce."

The tension breaks after that, though the easy camaraderie of their earlier days here is still strained. Cesar and Dean throw together a quick meal while Sam and Jesse talk quietly about the best way to move the Andar to their new homes.

When Dean comes back to the table, he gets right to the point. 

"So what exactly is it that you need us to do?" he asks bluntly. "What's the plan for keeping them--and us--safe?" 

"Well," Jesse says carefully, glancing over at his husband. "We've got a plan. We’ve built a space here to hold the vessels, which are inscribed and waiting to be activated and sealed. There are just a few more loose ends to tie up, and we’d like to get it finished tonight or tomorrow.”

"Here? Why not leave them at the cave?" Sam asks. "Seems like that's worked for an awfully long time." 

Cesar shakes his head. “Back when this was a working ranch, there were a lot more people here. Most of them were family, in one way or another. Now there’s just us. We can’t guard them from half an hour or more away.”

“Makes sense. So you’re going to try and copy the wards from the cave to...where? The shed? The spare room?”

“Why don’t we show you?” Cesar stands, gesturing for them to follow. Dean stands also, and from the way his hand moves involuntarily to his waistband tells Sam he’s wishing he still had his gun. Sam nudges him and Dean sighs, quick nod to show that he remembers he’s supposed to be trying to keep an open mind as they follow Cesar to the locked room in the hallway. The painting of Yggsidral and the binding runes on the door make more sense now, but Sam still feels a hint of unease at the thought of crossing that threshold. 

Sam doesn’t know what he was expecting to see when the door opened, but an empty room with a set of stairs leading down wasn’t it. Cesar hesitates, considering, then just says “Follow us.” Jesse joins him at the top of the stairs and they walk down together, leaving Sam and Dean to follow--leaving Sam and Dean to have their backs. It’s a small consideration, but Sam appreciates the show of trust and he can tell that Dean does too.

There’s a bare bulb at the top of the stairs and Jesse pulls the string, illuminating the sturdy staircase and the room underneath. It’s a well built basement that appears to run most of the length of the house, and as they reach the bottom of the stairs Sam can see that there are a multitude of protection symbols and wards on the walls, floor and ceiling. It’s very similar to what they’d seen at the cave, and he can’t help but admire the dedication and craftsmanship that must have gone into creating it all. 

Dean whistles when they reach the bottom of the stairs. “You’ve been busy,” he says, impressed. “But there’s something--”

“There’s no magic,” Sam says, the realization hitting them both at the same time. 

“That’s part of what we need you two for,” Cesar says. “The magic can only be activated by the blood of an Andar.” 

“Andar are spirits,” Dean says slowly. “They don’t have blood.”

“I get it,” Sam says, piecing together what Cesar is unwilling to say. “If they take blood from four people, then no one has to die.” Sam thinks he should sound more horrified than he does, but in truth it makes sense. The original ritual to activate the wards undoubtedly called for a true sacrifice, but Jesse and Cesar and the Andar are doing their best to make sure no one dies. Still, this doesn’t sound much better to his hunter’s instincts, or Dean’s. Blood magic--using blood as a spell component or to activate a spell--is only one step above death magic, and most practitioners are killed as soon as they’re discovered.

“Blood magic. _Black_ magic. That’s what you’re asking us to get involved in?” Dean’s voice is level, but Sam knows even if Jesse and Cesar don’t that Dean is never more dangerous than when he’s calm. 

“It’s the only way,” Cesar insists. “My ancestors were willing to die to save the lives of these spirits. They believed their mission--their calling--was that important. But I’m just asking for enough blood to activate the wards, nothing more.” He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “If you can’t do it, I understand. I can try to find two other people who are willing to help, but they won’t have your knowledge or the protection that being soulmates offers you. And in the meantime, we’re all at risk of more demons discovering what we’re hiding here.”

“We’ll do it,” Sam says, shooting Dean a quelling look. “Or at least I will. I believe this is the right thing to do.”

Dean paces around the bottom of the stairs, agitated. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Sam. It’s not even that I don’t want to help. But someone has to keep watch, someone who isn’t being influenced. Who are we going to find like that, Sam? Who can I trust to keep you safe while this thing is in my head? How do I ask someone else to do what I can’t?” 

“I’ll donate extra.” Cesar’s voice is quiet, firm. 

“Cesar, no.” Jesse sends a worried glance toward Dean. “Don’t do this. We don’t know what will happen if you give up that much blood. If you need to fight, if another demon shows up--.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Cesar tells him. “And Dean’s right. We should have someone we trust on the outside, watching. And right now, there’s no one I trust more than the three of you.”

Jesse turns to Sam and Dean, face set. “If we have to, Cesar and I will both donate extra. But that means that if it comes to a fight, we _have_ to be able to trust that you’ll protect us.”

Dean nods sharply, lips pressed tight as he looks anywhere but at Sam, not wanting to see his pain at this confirmation. “So you _are_ both berserkers. That first night...I should have listened to my instincts.” 

“The first night? You mean the snake.” Cesar nods slowly. “But you didn’t do anything. You just let us keep going.”

“We weren’t completely convinced,” Sam says. “We didn’t want it to be true given the lore about berserkers. We decided to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“And now?” Cesar asks. “Neither of us asked for this; the tattoo that was supposed to protect me from bonding was damaged, just the tiniest scar running through it. I don’t even know when it happened. But it was enough, and none of us realized what was happening until it was too late.” He doesn’t sound bitter, only resigned, which is more than Sam thinks he could manage in his place.

“We see what happens,” Dean says heavily. “If you and Jesse are willing to donate the blood, then we’ll do what we can to help you, as long as there’s someone free of Andar control to watch out for us.”

Sam lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thank you, Dean.” he says softly. Jesse and Cesar both nod in agreement. “We’ll find a way to do this. Maybe that sheriff? I’m guessing she knows at least a little of what’s going on, right?”

Jesse nods. “She’s not...completely informed. But she knows we’re doing something that will make the community safer. Do you trust her to watch our backs?”

“Do I have a choice?” Dean asks, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “We can’t bring another hunter into this, they won’t trust you. And reading between the lines here, we don’t have time to convince them.” 

“You’re right, Dean. This demon wasn’t the first who has come around over the years, though Jesse and I didn’t know why they were here until the cave was revealed,” Cesar admits. “We just took care of them. And...those two killings weren't the only ones since the protective circle in the cave was broken. They're just the only two that made it to the papers. Between the time Jesse called Sam and now, there have been three others.”

“So we definitely don’t have time to wait,” Sam says thoughtfully. “At the very least we need to bring the urns down here so that if more demons show up they come here, where we can keep them from getting to the Andar.”

“It’s more than that,” Jesse says reluctantly. “Even broken, the circle still protects and hides to a certain extent. Right now, any demons in the area know they’re somewhere around here, but not the exact location. If we remove them before the new circle is functional, it will be like a location beacon. They’ll all know exactly where to come.”

“No offense, but this whole situation is turning into a giant clusterfuck,” Dean says tiredly. “What the hell happened?”

“Well, originally we wanted you and Sam to help us finish warding the house and grounds while learning the truth about berserkers. We’d offer to have the two of you take the dreamroot and talk to the Andar yourselves. But more demons started showing up, and the two of you were more paranoid than we expected, and well…” Jesse shrugs, and they both look a little contrite. 

“Best laid plans and all that,” Sam says, smiling tentatively. “Dean and I know all about that, don’t we, Dean?”

“We’re the experts,” Dean agrees. “So. What now?”

“If you’re willing and we can get Sheriff Carlson up here, I’d like to go up to the cave and have you and Sam take the two remaining Andar into yourselves tonight,” Cesar says carefully, watching them both. 

Sam shrugs, glancing at Dean, who nods. “Fine by us if Sheriff Carlson is willing,” Sam says. “I think getting this over and done with it is a good idea.” He holds up a hand, forestalling any response. “And just so you know, when this is all said and done...Dean and I will be happy to stay and help you finish the wards on the rest of your property. Right, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, less than enthusiastically. “But let’s get this taken care of first.”

They all go back upstairs. Dean checks his gun and Sam does the same, familiar steps that help settle them both as they listen to Jesse talk to Sheriff Carlson on the phone. 

“Really,” Jesse says. “Well, that works out pretty well then. Let me give you the coordinates and you can meet us there.” He pauses, listening again. “I hope it’s nothing too serious this time. We’ll see you in about half an hour, then?” He listens, nodding, then hangs up.

“Something wrong?” Sam asks. 

“She’s already on her way out here,” Jesse says. “Seems like someone saw something along our property line and she wants to take a look. But she’s going to meet us at the cave first so we better get going.”

“Let’s take the 4 wheelers again,” Cesar suggests. He’s got what looks like a hefty sized tool box in one hand, a shotgun in the other. “I’ve got everything we should need in here, and then some.”

The ride to the cave is markedly more somber this time. A sense of urgency and foreboding seems to have fallen over the group, and Sam knows that Dean is not happy about what they’re about to do--both trusting a relative stranger to watch their backs and the idea of letting a foreign entity into his body. Sam isn’t entirely happy about it either, but after having talked to the cougar and learned more about the Andar he feels more comfortable about the decision. And for the first time, it’s going to be _his choice_ to let another being inside him. The idea is strangely empowering in a way that he’s very glad Dean can’t understand, and that Sam hopes he never will. 

Sheriff Carlson is waiting for them when they pull up at the foot of the path to the cave, her black SUV standing out starkly against the red and gold of the setting sun. 

“Sheriff,” Cesar calls out, dismounting from the four wheeler. “Thanks for coming all the way out here.” 

“No problem,” she says briskly. “Like I told Jesse, I was already on my way out to check with you about a possible trespasser. Now why don’t you fill me in on the details here?”

“It will be easier if we show you something first,” Jesse says, gesturing toward the path. “Let’s just set up the lights and we can go up.”

Jesse and Cesar make quick work of pulling the lightweight lamps out of Cesar’s tool box and setting them up to point along the path. Even so the climb isn’t easy. Jesse and Cesar lead the way, followed by Sheriff Carlson, then Sam and Dean in case she slips on the unfamiliar terrain. Sam hears her gasp audibly when she reaches the top and gets her first glimpse of the cave. 

“What _is_ this,” she asks wonderingly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

“This is where my first ancestors were buried,” Cesar says simply. “They came here from Norway hundreds of years ago, and brought with them creatures of spirit called the Andar.” 

“They hoped the creatures would be able to bond with the native inhabitants of this land,” Jesse adds. “But it didn’t work, and eventually they came to rest here. Cesar’s family has been watching over them ever since.” He and Cesar step carefully into the pattern, moving toward the vessels in the center.

“Unfortunately, the protective circles and wards my ancestors set up were damaged in the most recent landslide, and now the Andar need to be moved to a more secure location.” Cesar stops in the center of the circle and takes out a stone bowl and a small knife, setting them gently between the two vessels. 

Sam feels the magic in the cave flare when Cesar takes the bowl from the tool box, turning the air thick and heavy. Dean shudders next to him, sucking in a harsh breath. 

“Dean and I are going to serve as the new vessels for the Andar until we can get them into their new homes,” Sam says, the words dropping into the rising power. “But we need someone unaffected by their power to watch our backs.” He and Dean enter the pattern, the magic so strong, so alive and anticipatory that Sam feels like he’s pushing through a waterfall. 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Sheriff Carlton says, her voice oily and sneering. “I’ve been waiting a long damn time to find this place, and now that I’m here none of you are leaving alive.” The sound of her gun cocking is loud, even through the roar of the magic. “And that includes the animals in those jars.” 

Everyone freezes at the sound, and the words that barely make sense. 

“Chris?” Cesar asks in confusion. “What--”

“Oh, sorry--Chris can’t come to the phone right now.” Inky blackness spreads across the woman’s eyes, revealing her true identity. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment. I even picked up this new meatsuit to celebrate.”

“Let her go, you black-eyed bitch,” Dean growls, hands clenched as he steps forward. 

“Stay back,” the demon snaps. The gun she’s pointing at Cesar and Jesse never wavers, dismissing Dean and Sam both as unimportant. “I’ll get to you later, Winchester. Right now I need to deal with the _real_ threat in the room.” 

The roar of the gun is shockingly loud, amplified painfully by the enclosing stone walls. Even the demon seems startled, long enough for Jesse to cross the room with blinding speed. He knocks the gun from her hand with enough force to break the bone, the crack audible even through the ringing in Sam’s ears. The demon howls in pain and attacks Jesse furiously, forcing him to fend her off without hurting the body it’s wearing too much. 

“Go check on Cesar,” Dean growls in Sam’s ear, snapping him out of his reverie. “I’ll handle the demon.”

Sam shakes his head to clear it and runs the few steps to the center of the circle. There’s no time for caution or concern for the intricate spellwork now--he can see the growing pool of blood around Cesar and knows that Jesse won’t be able to hold the demon off much longer without doing real harm to the woman whose body it’s wearing. He pushes Cesar’s hands aside, tearing open his shirt to see that the wound is already healing despite the blood, and looks up to see Cesar shrug and then grimace. 

“Being bonded has its advantages,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’ll be fine--you should watch.”

Sam turns away from him reluctantly. Dean is standing his ground, gun drawn, chanting the exorcism they’d both memorized years ago while Jesse barely holds the demon off, obviously trying not to hurt the possessed woman while keeping the demon’s focus away from Dean. Sam watches in amazement as Dean spits out the last words and the familiar black cloud streams from Sheriff Carlson’s mouth--only to be caught by Jesse, who gleefully rips it to sparking, smoky shreds. His eyes are glowing fiercely and his hands move almost faster than Sam can follow as he tears through the demon until there’s nothing left but rapidly fading black puddles on the floor, then catches the unconscious sheriff and eases her down to the floor of the cave.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Dean breathes, awed. “That was fucking _awesome_!”

“Told you,” Cesar says with a pained laugh. He’s already on his feet, making his way over to his husband and their friend. “Don’t worry about me,” he scolds Jesse gently. “Let’s make sure she’s alright first.” 

“Are you really okay?” Jesse’s voice is shaking with leftover adrenaline and fear, and Sam feels like an intruder as Cesar allows himself to be checked over thoroughly. 

“Nice job on the exorcism,” he says to Dean instead of watching Jesse check Cesar’s injuries. “That was incredible.”

“Good thing you had us memorize that one,” Dean agrees. “Did you see the way he just ripped that thing apart?” 

“Oh, did you change your mind about bonding? I’m sure we can work something out if you did,” Sam teases, and Dean just shakes his head. 

“Nah. Even if I had a choice, it would still be you, Sammy. Always.” Dean’s eyes darken and he glances over to where Jesse and Cesar are still occupied with tending to Sheriff Carlson before leaning in to kiss Sam gently. “You oughta know that by now.”

“I do,” Sam says. “But it’s still nice to hear you say it out loud. Come on, let’s see if we can help get this show on the road before anyone else shows up.”

There’s not much to be done for the sheriff once she regains consciousness--her wrist is clearly broken but she doesn’t appear concussed. 

“What do you mean, a demon possessed me?” she asks, voice rising in fear. 

“It’s just like what Cesar and I have told you about, Chris,” Jesse says calmly. “This is why we want you to get a tattoo.” Sam and Dean both pull their collars down, revealing the intricate marking. “We can get it set up for you as soon as your wrist is healed. Now. Do you think you can give us half an hour to finish this ritual, or do you want us to call someone right now?”

“Go ahead,” she tells him despite her obvious pain. “I want to see this thing through. But then you’re going to tell me every last detail, do you hear me? No more half-truths or lies.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cesar says respectfully. He helps her sit up, angling her body so she can see the inner circle clearly. 

“All right. You two ready for this?” Jesse asks. “It’s probably going to be a bit anticlimactic after that fireworks show.”

“I’ll take it,” Dean says dryly. “Let’s do this and get the sheriff to the hospital so I can collapse on a comfy couch with a cold beer and a bottle of whiskey.” 

“Hate to break it to you, Dean...but we can’t get drunk.” Jesse and Cesar both laugh at Dean’s disgruntled expression. “But it still tastes damn good, so I’ll drink to that!”

Sam and Dean follow Jesse and Cesar into the center of the pattern and kneel, carefully avoiding the pool of drying blood. The bowl and dagger are lying where Cesar had placed them earlier and he picks up the dagger, holding out his hand for Sam’s. 

“I’m sure you know how this part works,” he says ruefully, pushing back the sleeve of Sam's overshirt. “A hazard of the job.” 

Sam doesn’t say anything, just winces slightly as the blade slices cleanly and shallowly across his forearm. Blood wells up, thick and red and smelling of copper and iron, without even a trace of the sulfur Sam always fears will manifest, dripping into the stone bowl in a steady stream.

"Dean?" Cesar turns to Dean and Dean holds out his arm, sleeve already rolled up. His blood mixes with Sam's in the bowl. 

"This isn't the way it was done, traditionally," Cesar continues. He nods to Jesse, who takes out his own knife and uses it to begin unsealing the first urn. "Traditionally, there would be an animal sacrifice. But it turns out any blood will do, and I assumed you'd rather your own than ours or a helpless animal." 

"For once the bunny gets to live," Dean quips, voice shaky. He watches as Sam takes a deep breath and lifts the bowl to his lips to take a long swallow. 

_You can do this,_ Sam tells himself as the smell of blood hits him, thick and horribly familiar. He knows what it will taste like and his stomach churns as the memories try to surface. He shoves them away resolutely and sets his mouth to the rim of the bowl, trying not to gag as the liquid slides down his throat, still warm from Dean’s body, breathing harshly through his nose when he’s done because he’s afraid to open his mouth. 

“Sam?” Dean’s voice is gentle, concerned. Sam passes him the bowl blindly, unable to watch as Dean drinks. He closes his eyes, focuses on the stinging cut in his arm, the sharp ache of stone under his knees, the slight ringing in his ears from the gunshot earlier, grounding himself in the physical and the present. 

The grate of stone on stone as Cesar returns the bowl to the cave floor drags Sam's eyes open and he gasps audibly at the sight before him. The cougar from his earlier dreams stands before him, an expression of feline bliss on his face as he joyously rubs his cheek against that of the giant wolf next to him. 

::It is good to see you again, my friend,:: he says warmly in Sam’s mind. ::It has been too long.::

The giant wolf wags its tail and _licks_ the cougar’s face before turning to Dean. It’s obvious that he is speaking to Dean the way the cougar has spoken to Sam, but it’s clear that his presence and words don’t bring the same sense of peace and friendship that the cougar brings to Sam. The wolf whines softly and extends it’s muzzle toward Dean, who nods stiffly. 

::We will join you now,:: the cougar tells Sam, dragging Sam’s attention away from his brother, and Sam nods, his mouth dry with a mix of fear and anticipation. 

The cat gathers itself and leaps, straight at Sam, and Dean’s strangled yell tells Sam that his wolf has probably done the same. The world tilts, disappears for a long moment before rushing back with a cacophony of sound and light and smell that leaves Sam reeling as he struggles for control. He can _feel_ the cougar move inside him, in his mind, and he panics, stumbling to his feet as the memories overwhelm him. A hand falls on his shoulder and he nearly lashes out before recognizing Dean’s touch. 

“It’s okay, Sammy. Sam. I’m right here. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Dean’s voice and Dean’s touch and Sam follows them back to the present, to where his brother is waiting for him. 

“Dean?” Sam collapses into Dean’s arms, not caring who sees them. “Dean, it’s in me--I can feel it--” He’s the world’s biggest idiot for not realizing--not understanding--for thinking that he could do this. 

“Shhh. Sammy. It’s okay. You’re okay. This isn’t Lucifer. It’s not Meg. It’s not Gadreel. You can do this.” Dean’s voice is both deeper and lighter, richer than Sam has ever heard it, and he smells...He smells like _home_ , gunpowder and sweat and blood, and underneath it a faint scent of almonds and loam, sweet and comforting. Sam buries his face in Dean’s neck, breathing deep, and Dean lets him, strokes his hair and his back and just holds him until the storm passes. 

At last Sam feels strong enough to stand on his own, straightening up in the circle of Dean’s arms. Dean smiles shakily at him, and now it’s guilt surging to the forefront because Dean is obviously struggling as much as Sam is. He’s pale, pupils dilated as he tries to hold himself steady for Sam, but now that Sam’s head is clearing he can smell the fear coming off Dean in waves, acrid and bitter and sharp. 

“Dean,” he whispers, horrified at what he’s done, and Dean must hear it in his voice because he shakes his head immediately. 

“Don’t,” he orders softly. “We made this choice together, and we’re going to get through it together, alright? No blaming yourself for a choice that I made.”

Sam closes his eyes, fighting for control, and nods. His brother is wrong, but his heart is always in the right place and for now Sam’s going to take whatever comfort they can give each other. “Alright. Can we get out of here?” He hates how small and weak his voice sounds, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice, his smile growing into relief. 

“Come on.” Dean takes a step and yelps, falling to his knees in a tangle of limbs. “What the hell?” 

The cougar laughs, trying to turn it into a cough. 

::We are not used to walking upright:: he admits. ::We must move slowly::

For some reason, the cougar’s voice doesn’t stir Sam’s panic quite as badly this time, though he can still feel it simmering beneath the surface. He breathes deeply, focusing on the sense of peace and acceptance he’d felt in his dreams instead of the fear that sharing his skin with another being causes. 

::Carefully:: Sam agrees, and takes a tentative step, then another. 

::Good:: the cougar says approvingly, with a touch of smugness. ::We will work well together.::

Feeling slightly more confident, Sam holds out a hand to Dean, offering help. Dean takes it, red-faced and scowling--and they both nearly end up in a heap on the floor. Would have, if not for Jesse’s steadying support as he and Cesar try not to laugh. 

“It’s a learning curve,” Cesar says, chuckling. “And if you think it’s hard learning to walk on two feet instead of four, just think of poor Jesse trying to figure out how _not_ to fly.” He offers Dean a hand up, pulling Dean to his feet easily. 

“Coulda said something before,” Dean says grumpily, but the distraction and humor are clearly helping. His scent has cleared a little, less acrid and sharp, as he concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, and he actually laughs when he makes it to the mouth of the cave and nearly topples over when he punches his fist in the air. 

“But it’s so much more fun like this,” Cesar says, laughing again. “Why don’t you and Sam practice walking up here while Jesse and I get Chris back down to her SUV. We’ll drop you at the ranch then take her to the hospital.”

“The ATVs can stay here for a day or two,” Jesse adds. “We don’t get many people out this way, so they’ll be fine.”

“Can we get back to the part where you take me to the hospital?” Sheriff Carlson asks dryly. “Not that this hasn’t been incredibly enlightening, I’d really like some painkillers right about now.” 

In answer Cesar scoops her up from the ground easily, cradling her carefully against his chest. “Sorry, Chris,” he says contritely. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Sam and Dean take Cesar’s advice and practice putting one foot in front of the other until neither of them is falling down. Both Andar remain wisely silent, though Sam can still feel the cougar watching if he tries. It’s horribly reminiscent of trying not to poke at the wall Death had put in his head all those years ago, and he can feel his heart rate speeding up again as he tries not to think about trying not to think. 

“Hey, take it easy,” Dean says, rubbing his back soothingly. “This is just a day or two, alright? And then it’s over.”

“You’re taking this pretty well,” Sam says, breathing Dean’s scent in again. He meets Dean’s eyes and is instantly captivated by the shades and layers of green and gold that he’d never seen before. He stares, open-mouthed, until Dean shoves his shoulder and almost takes them both down again. 

“Cut it out,” Dean mutters, color rising in his cheeks, but Sam notices that he’s staring too. “Still can’t figure out what color your eyes are,” he says under his breath. “Got a goddamn wolf inside me and all he can say is _pretty_.”

“Let’s see if we can get out of here,” Sam suggests. The smell of drying blood is almost nauseatingly strong to his heightened senses, and he suspects that Dean feels the same way. They put the ritual bowl and dagger back into the tool box and move it further into the shadows, away from prying eyes if anyone should find their way up here before Jesse and Cesar can return. Satisfied that they’ve cleaned up as best they can under the circumstances, they start down the path, leaning on each other for support and comfort.

The trip down the steep slope is easier than Sam thought it would be. He’s still slightly unsure on his feet, but his enhanced vision helps make up for his unsteadiness, picking up and amplifying even the smallest bit of light and showing him every inch of the trail. They make it to the bottom without a misstep, surprising Jesse and Cesar as they are getting ready to start back up. 

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Cesar comments as they all get into the SUV. “Glad to see you’re having an easier time of it than we did.”

“I think _easy_ might be an overstatement,” Dean mutters, but overall he seems more relaxed then he was half an hour ago. Sam stares out the window, trying to keep his own panic under control as they discuss having a deputy take the sheriff to the hospital rather than dropping her off themselves in order to avoid being involved, and before long Dean’s shaking him gently by the shoulder. 

“Hey, Sam. We’re here at the house. Come on inside.” Dean’s voice is gentle, and Sam wants to melt into him, just fall into bed with him and never let go. Dean seems to have similar thoughts as he guides Sam inside and to their room, carefully helping him undress and checking the cut on his forearm. 

“Looks like it’s already healing,” Dean comments. “Doesn’t even really need a bandage. I guess there are some benefits to this whole gig, Sammy.” He frowns when Sam doesn’t answer, but Sam can’t. Can’t focus on anything but the feeling of _other_ and _wrong_ and the creeping panic he feels rising and coalescing every time the creature inside him shifts or moves or feels. 

“I need it out of me, Dean,” he says as calmly as he can. “I just--I can’t--” 

“Hey, I know. I know. We’re going to, first thing tomorrow. But we gotta get the sheriff taken care of, and Cesar might need a day to heal, I don’t know.” Dean kisses his forehead and nudges him toward the bed. “Let’s see if we can get some rest, okay? You lay down and I’m going to give Jesse a call, find out what we’re doing next.” 

Sam nods, lets himself be arranged and covered and kissed, but he can’t relax. He desperately wants Dean to stay, but tells himself to let it go, let Dean do what needs to be done. His eyes slip closed as Dean closes the door softly, but Sam’s heightened senses can still pick his voice out of the stillness as he talks to Jesse. 

_We gotta do this tonight, Dean says, unyielding. Sam’s not doing so great, and I’m not too happy about this either._

_I get that Cesar lost a lot of blood--listen. We’re trying to help here, but you have to understand what Sam’s been through--_

_I know. I know._

_Look, how about we put the Andar into the jars tonight and let him get a good night’s sleep. I think Sam and I would both rather fight off a horde of demons than--_

_No...you’re right. I get it. The last thing you two need is a neon sign over this place advertising that you’ve got Andar here._

Dean sighs, and Sam can see him pacing, rubbing his hand over his face and the back of his neck as clearly as if they were in the same room. He wishes he were stronger, that he could face this with better grace given that it was his idea, but he can’t. Sam turns over, curls into himself as small as he can. All he can do is wait. 

Sam isn’t asleep when Dean slips back into the room, but he’s not really awake either, caught in that in-between state that he could sometimes get to when the pain of the Trials was especially bad or when the wall in his head was driving him insane less slowly than usual. The cougar had wisely retreated as far as he could, but Sam can still _feel_ him, moving and stretching and enjoying the first taste of freedom he’s gotten in years. And Sam feels _guilty_. It’s not the Andar’s fault that he’s too broken to help, and now the cougar’s first trip back into the world in centuries is going to be curtailed by Sam’s shortcomings. 

“Sam. Sammy, wake up,” Dean says softly, shaking Sam’s shoulder. The mattress dips slightly as Dean sits next to him, and all Sam can think about is how much he wants him to stay. “Jesse and Cesar are going to stay at the hospital to make sure Chris is okay, but they’ll be back here first thing in the morning, alright? They’re also a little worried about Cesar losing so much blood in the cave, they want to be sure he’ll be up to donating for the ritual. You think you can hold out that long?”

“‘Course, Dean,” Sam lies, though it’s not really a lie because what choice does he have? “Just...stay here with me?”

“Try and stop me, little brother,” Dean assures him. He stands up long enough to strip down and then he’s back, a long line of warmth against Sam’s back to protect him against the world. The steady sound of his heartbeat, loud and rhythmic, is comforting enough for Sam to sleep, surrounded by the feel and smell and sound of home. 

Dean hears when Sam finally falls asleep, his heart and lungs finally evening out into a rhythm Dean recognizes instantly after almost four decades of sleeping in the same room and mostly the same bed. Relieved that Sam is finally resting, Dean allows himself to relax as well. It’s surprisingly easy, given the day they’ve had, but he can smell Sam--a faintly nutty smell, and something that makes Dean think of warmth and sunshine. He can tell that Sam isn’t upset at the moment--no bad dreams yet, just rest--and it’s so soothing that Dean finds himself unable to keep his eyes open. He drifts off with Sam in his arms, his last thought that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

Dean wakes up early to the sound of running water. Sam’s in the shower already, which doesn’t surprise him, but he’s mildly disappointed that his brother didn’t wake him first. Then again, Sam probably doesn’t want more company than he’s got right now, and that thought kills any awakening desire Dean might have for the moment. He checks his phone for missed calls, expecting a message from Jesse or Cesar, but notes with a flicker of annoyance that there’s nothing, despite his conversation with Jesse last night. 

_Give it some time,_ he tells himself. _It’s barely seven am._ Sam chooses that moment to come out of the shower, and Dean’s so relieved to see him up and moving on his own that he momentarily forgets about rituals and missing hosts.

“Hey,” he says softly, crossing the room to give Sam a good morning kiss. Sam makes his usual face at Dean’s morning breath, and Dean is so happy to see it that he doesn’t even tease him. “Nothing from Jesse or Cesar yet, but it’s still early. You want to make breakfast while I clean up?”

Sam smiles, and Dean realizes he can still smell the same scents coming from his brother as last night. It’s stronger now, not overlaid with gunpowder or blood or the horribly bitter smell of fear, and Dean can’t resist nosing at Sam’s throat, under his hair where it’s strongest. 

“Damn, you smell good,” Dean says indistinctly. He licks a stripe up Sam’s neck, pleased to feel Sam shiver against him. “Taste good too.”

“Definitely time to get you some breakfast,” Sam says, laughing. He pushes Dean away, toward the bathroom. “Go shower, I’ll fix us something.”

It’s like the previous night never happened, and Dean hopes like hell this is real and that Sam hasn’t somehow figured out how to fool him overnight. 

The smell of bacon, eggs and toast greets Dean when he finishes his shower, and Dean realizes that he’s _hungry_. 

::Bonded require more food than unbonded:: the wolf pipes up tentatively. He clearly expects Dean to yell at him, but Dean just thinks a quick _thanks for the info_ in his general direction and goes to find Sam. And food. 

Luckily they’re both in the same place. Dean has never been so happy to see heaping plates of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and toast, not to mention a pot of hot coffee. Sam comes to him immediately, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. “You smell amazing,” he says, echoing Dean’s earlier words with surprise. “This is going to take some getting used to.”

“You seem to be feeling better,” Dean ventures cautiously, not wanting to jinx this miraculous change. “What happened?”

“I dreamed,” Sam says simply. He leans forward, elbows on the counter as he sips his coffee. “The cougar showed me more of their history. We talked, and he showed me where to find the ritual to purge myself.” He hesitates. “It was a shock, last night,” he says, voice shaking. “I thought I was ready, but I really wasn’t. But knowing that I can end this whenever I want...that makes a difference. Remembering that I wasn’t taken by force...that helps a lot. And I can’t deny that this is pretty incredible.” He shakes his head in amazement. “I can _smell_ that you’re happy.”

“Well, Jesse and Cesar will be happy to hear that,” Dean says between bites. “This is fantastic, by the way. I’m starving. Anyway, they’re worried about all the blood that Cesar lost last night, which is why they wanted to put things off til this morning.”

“They aren’t here yet though,” Sam says, frowning slightly, and as if on cue his phone rings. 

“Bingo,” Dean says, smiling. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Sam speaking,” Sam says, and a moment later his face goes white. 

“Sam? Sam!” 

Dean grabs the phone. “Who is this?” he demands, and an unfamiliar voice oozes out of the speaker.

“Don’t worry, Dean, you’re going to find out,” the voice sneers. It sounds like a man, but the cadence is wrong, off. _Demon_ , Dean thinks distantly, already thinking about where the salt is, how far to reach his gun. “We’ve got the meat mongrels you’ve been shacking up with. And if you get here in time, you might even get to see them alive again.” An ugly laugh grates over Dean’s nerves. “Though possibly not in one piece.”

“Where are you?” Dean demands through clenched teeth. “We’re going to find you, you black-eyed piece of shit, and we’re gonna--”

“That’s exactly what we’re counting on,” the demons coos. “We’ll be waiting for you.” 

The line goes silent, and Sam grabs Dean’s arm before he can throw the phone across the room. “Son of a bitch!” Dean yells furiously. 

“Dean. _Dean._ Calm down. We know where they’re at, and we’ll save them.”

“You know something I don’t, Sam?” Dean asks bluntly. “Because it looks to me like they’re holding all the cards.” 

“These guys can talk to each other,” Sam says, tapping the side of his head. “At least a little bit. And I have a feeling I know where they are.”

“Well, in that case, saddle up, Sammy. We’ve got work to do.”


End file.
